Raspberry

Your teacher stared at the clock. Then at the students and then sighed.

"Before everyone disappears." The room gradually settled. Though not completely. There were still whispers here and there, but at least everyone was facing the front again. Your teacher picked up a stack of papers from the desk.

"I've been checking the extracurricular registrations." A few students groaned while you rested your cheek against your palm. You had completely forgotten about that and apparently, you weren't the only one.

"Several of you still haven't joined a club." Someone near the back muttered,

"Maybe because we don't want to." Your teacher heard it.

"Then perhaps you should consider wanting to." A few students laughed while your teacher smiled faintly before continuing.

"Your extracurricular activities count toward your school requirements. So if you haven't registered yet, please do so before the deadline." The room immediately became louder.

"Does helping in the library count?"

"Yes."

"What about tutoring?"

"If it's registered through the school."

"Does sleeping count?"

"No." The student who asked slowly lowered his hand.

"Worth a try." You smiled to yourself and looked toward the bulletin board at the side of the classroom. There were dozens of club posters pinned across it. Some were colorful and new while the others were old enough that their corners had started curling.

Literature Club, Art Club, Music Society, Basketball Club, The Student Council and near the bottom, partly hidden behind another poster, was a simpler one. Black lettering. A small magnifying glass drawn beneath it.

MYSTERY & INVESTIGATION CLUB

You stared at it. You couldn't remember seeing that one before. Maybe because it looked like someone had printed it five minutes before the deadline.

"Still haven't picked one?"

You turned towards your classmate. You shook your head.

"Not yet."

"You should join something easy."

"Such as?"

"Anything that doesn't require running."

"You hate running."

"Exactly." You laughed.

Another classmate leaned over from the desk behind you.

"What about the Mystery Club?"

Your eyes drifted back toward the poster.

"That one?"

"Yeah." There was a pause.

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Not really."

Another student joined the conversation.

"I heard they're actually good."

"At solving mysteries?"

"Apparently."

Someone across the room turned around and joined the conversation.

"My older brother knows someone who joined."

"And?"

"He said they take everything seriously." A pause, "...Mostly."

You raised an eyebrow, "What does that mean?"

Nobody answered immediately. Finally, the first student shrugged.

"I think they're just... weird."

"Bad weird?"

"No."

"Good weird?" Another shrug.

"Just weird."

You looked back at the poster. That was somehow more interesting than if they'd simply told you not to join. "What kind of mysteries do they solve?"

"Matters of any kind, supposedly."

"Like?"

"Lost things, strange noises and some missing stuff."

"Missing stuff?"

"One time they found a missing phone."

"That's useful."

"Yeah."

"And another time?" Someone snorted. "They investigated someone's missing lunch."

You turned. "Did they find it?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" A pause.

"The refrigerator." You stared and unconsciously raised an eyebrow.

"...Why did they need an investigation for that?" Your classmate smiled.

"That's what everyone keeps asking." The bell rang again. Finally signalling the end of the day. Everyone began gathering their things. You looked at the Mystery Club poster one more time. For some reason, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

The hallway was crowded after class. Students moved in every direction, conversations overlapping until they became one indistinct hum. You slipped through the crowd with your bag over one shoulder, still thinking about the clubs. Maybe you would join the art club. It seemed quiet. The library club sounded nice too. The Mystery Club... You weren't sure. You were about to turn towards the stairs when three students came into view farther down the corridor.

You recognized two of them from around school. Albedo and Sucrose, the Student Council President and Vice. The third student was someone you didn't know. She was carrying several folders against her chest. They walked past a classroom before slowing near the corner. You weren't trying to listen, but the hallway had briefly emptied, and a few words carried.

"...again?"

"I'm sure it's nothing." Sucrose's voice. Another voice answered, quieter.

"That's what you said last time."

You couldn't make out the response. The three continued walking. You only caught fragments as you passed in the opposite direction.

"...club..."

"...report..."

"...don't worry..."

Then the corridor became noisy again. You glanced back. They had already disappeared around the corner. You wondered what that had been about. But only for a moment. There were still club registrations to worry about.

You eventually found yourself on the older side of the school building. You weren't entirely sure how you'd gotten there. Maybe you had unconsciously followed the club directory. Maybe curiosity had won, either way, the hallway here was noticeably quieter. The walls were lined with old photographs of school activities. Some had faded so badly that you could barely recognize the faces of the students and faculty involved. At the very end of the hall was a small wooden door. A sign hung on it.

MYSTERY & INVESTIGATION CLUB

You stopped. So this was it. The sign looked slightly crooked. You stepped closer. Someone had written beneath the official lettering in much smaller handwriting:

Please leave your common sense at the door.

You stared at it. "...That's reassuring."

Below the sign was another smaller piece of paper. A list of previous cases, most were handwritten.

Missing Class Keys : SOLVED

Strange Noise in the Auditorium : SOLVED

Unknown Footprints Behind Gym : SOLVED

Disappearance of Three Custard Buns : SOLVED

"...Custard buns?", you muttered to yourself. There was a note beside it.

Venti denies everything.

You blinked. You weren't sure whether that made the club sound more competent or less. Still, you knocked. Once. Nothing. You waited for a moment and knocked again. Still nothing. You pressed your ear to he door. There was a muffled voice inside. Multiple of them, actually.

"...told you."

Another voice answered.

"You absolutely did not."

A third, "Can we just check the table?"

Then, a loud thud echoed. You jumped. Something crashed inside. A moment of silence followed. Then, "Nobody move."

You stared at the door. "...Should I come back later?". Someone inside immediately shouted:

"No!"

You out our hand on he knob and slowly opened the door. The room was... Not what you expected. There were books stacked along the walls. A large corkboard occupied most of one side of the room, covered with photographs, handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, and colored strings connecting different pieces of information. A desk sat beneath the window. Several chairs had been pushed together around a table. There were magnifying glasses, notebooks, a camera and a box labeled: EVIDENCE : DO NOT TOUCH but someone had clearly touched it. There was also a half-empty box of crackers beside it. You weren't sure if that counted as evidence. The room looked like a detective club had collided with a storage room and neither had survived.

In the middle of everything stood a boy holding a notebook and staring intensely at an empty snack wrapper. He looked up and his eyes immediately found yours.

"You." You pointed at yourself, "...Me?"

"Yes, are you here about the case?" You looked at the wrapper.

"...What case?"

"The missing snacks."

A voice from the other side of the room sighed. "It's been ten minutes." You glanced over where the voice came from. A boy sat near the window with a book open in his lap. He seemed completely calm. Almost suspiciously calm as though this was a normal occurrence (which it could be). Beside him, another boy stood with his arms crossed. He looked at the snack wrapper, then at the boy holding the notebook. Then at you. "Don't encourage him."

"It's a perfectly legitimate investigation," the boy replied.

"It's potato chips."

"Missing potato chips."

"It's still potato chips."

You weren't sure whether you should laugh or stay silent, but decided not to say anything. The boy by the window closed his book and smiled. "I'm Kazuha."

He gestured casually toward the others. "The one investigating is Heizou." Heizou gave you a small nod without taking his eyes off the table.

"The one near the cupboard is Venti." Venti waved cheerfully, "Hello."

Kazuha's gaze shifted toward the boy with his arms crossed. "And that's Kuni."

Kuni frowned. "I can introduce myself."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you let me?" Kazuha smiled.

"You looked busy."

"I wasn't."

"You were complaining."

"I was making an observation." Kazuha nodded solemnly.

"Of course."

Kuni stared at him, "...You're enjoying this."

"A little."

Kuni pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. You had to cover your smile. Kazuha continued as though nothing had happened. "And that's Xiao."

You looked toward the direction he was facing. A boy stood at the corner of the room, holding a tiny crumb between his fingers. He looked at it, then gestured at Heizou.

"...I found this."

Heizou's eyes lit up. "Excellent."

Xiao's face went blank. "It's a crumb."

"Evidence."

Xiao stared at him. For a second, you thought he might argue. Instead, he sighed.

"...Fine."

He walked toward the table and placed the crumb beside the empty wrapper.

Then he looked toward the door. "I'll check outside." And walked away. Kuni watched him go. "He could've said no." Kazuha smiled.

"He could have."

"Then why didn't he?"

Kazuha simply patted Kuni's shoulder. "That's how he is."

Kuni seemed to accept this answer. "...Fair."

You weren't sure what was more amusing, the investigation itself.. Or the fact that everyone seemed completely accustomed to this. Then the door opened behind you and a boy stepped inside carrying a small notebook.

"Jean said you were looking for me." He stopped when he noticed you and smiled, "Oh. Hi, I'm Aether."

You introduced yourself. He glanced towards the table and then at Heizou.

"What's the situation?"

Heizou held up the empty wrapper. "Several snacks have disappeared."

Aether looked at it, then at the table and slowly towards Venti, who was standing suspiciously close to the snack cupboard. "...I see."

He looked back at Heizou. "Did you check the hallway"

"Xiao's doing that."

"The trash?" Aether was already walking toward the bin. "I'll check."

Kuni watched him go. "You're actually taking this seriously?"

Aether glanced over his shoulder. "It's evidence."

Kuni face-palmed, "...Oh no."

Aether returned a moment later with an old receipt and absolutely no snacks. "Nothing." Kuni folded his arms. "Told you." Aether shrugged, "Had to check." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "Besides, I found a cat in the hallway earlier" Kuni stared at him.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It could've been involved."

"It was a cat."

"A very suspicious cat."

You glanced at Kazuha's way. He was quietly smiling. Kuni looked like he knew where this is going.

"You spent ten minutes following it, didn't you?"

"It kept looking back at me!"

"Because you were following it!" Kazuha finally laughed and you couldn't help joining him. Kuni looked between the two of you. "See what I have to deal with?"

Kazuha gave his shoulder another gentle pat. "You'll survive."

"I'd rather die."

The last member of the club finally stepped in the room. She crossed the room silently as she placed her folders down on the desk near the window carefully. She surveyed the room. The papers, the evidence board, the snack wrapper, Venti, the crumb and then finally all 6 pairs of eyes trained on her. Her expression barely changed.

"Please tell me nobody broke anything."

"No," Aether answered.

"Good."

She scanned the room again, "Xiao?"

"Nothing's broken," came his distant reply. She nodded. She then turned towards you. You recognized her now. The person you'd seen walking with Albedo and Sucrose. She gave you a polite smile.

"I'm Jean."

Ah. So that was her name.

You introduced yourself. Jean glanced toward the empty chair near the table.

"Are you looking for a club?"

You nodded. "Maybe."

"We'd be happy to have you."

You looked around you. Heizou was studying the empty wrapper like it contained the secrets of the universe. Aether was inspecting the trash, again. Xiao had returned from the hallway with absolutely nothing. Kuni was muttering something to Kazuha. Kazuha was listening patiently. Venti was eating another snack. And Jean was apparently deciding whether this counted as a successful afternoon.

You looked at her. "Is this normal?" Jean paused. Kuni immediately answered. "No."

Kazuha gently patted his shoulder. "It is."

Kuni looked at him. "...Don't undermine me."

Jean sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

A loud thump came from somewhere outside and everyone froze while Jean slowly looked towards the door. "...What was that?"

Aether opened his mouth as if I say something but decided otherwise. Kuni looked at Kazuha with a raised brow while Kazuha only smiled at him. Xiao check the hallway from the door: "Nothing's broken." Jean relaxed. "Good." She picked up her pen.

You stared at her, dumbfounded. "That's your concern?" She looked at you. "At this point?" A short pause, "As long as nobody burns the school down, the club is doing fine."

You laughed and somehow... That made your decision a little easier.

The investigation itself turned out to be surprisingly organized. At least, after you figured out how everyone worked. Heizou insisted on reconstructing the scene. Aether checked practical places. Xiao always inspected the hallway despite looking mildly inconvenienced by the entire situation. Kazuha noticed details everyone else overlooked. Kuni complained about the investigation while somehow contributing useful information every few minutes. Venti was the prime suspect. And Jean sat at her desk filling out paperwork.

You watched for a while, then finally asked: "Do you need help?"

Jean glanced your way and smiled, "Actually..."

She handed you a sheet of paper. "Could you write down what everyone finds?"

You took it. "Sure."

That was how you ended up standing beside the investigation board. It wasn't long before Kazuha leaned over. "You're doing well."

"Thank you."

Kuni looked over too, "Don't encourage them."

Kazuha beamed, "You always say that."

"Because you encourage everyone."

"That's true." Kuni huffed, "...whatever."

You gave them a small smile. Maybe this wasn't such a bad place after all.

Eventually, Aether returned from the trash bin. "Nothing."

Xiao came back from the hallway (again). "Nothing."

Kazuha glanced at the floor, then at the cupboard. "Wait."

Everyone turned. He pointed toward a few crumbs on the floor.

"They lead there." Heizou immediately moved and opened the cupboard. Inside sat a cardboard box. Heizou slowly lifted the lid, and to everyone's surprise (Kuni: Not really) the missing snacks were inside. Silence envelope the hole room.

You gaped. "...They're right there."

Heizou slowly nodded. "Fascinating."

Kuni gawked at him. "We spent twenty-three minutes investigating something that was sitting in a storage box!"

Aether looked at the clock. "Twenty-four, actually."

Kuni pivoted to him. "Why were you timing us?"

"I wasn't."

"Then how did you-"

Jean spoke without looking up from her paperwork. "Please take it outside if you will." Everyone stopped. Jean glanced around the room. The walls are still standing, no windows were broken, and nobody was on fire. She returned to her paperwork. "Good enough."

Venti reached for another snack. "Put it back." She warned, without looking up.

Venti froze. "...But-"

"Put it back." He slowly returned it while pouting.

You snicked while wondering that maybe you had found the right club after all.

You looked down at the membership form Jean had given you earlier. Your pen hovered over the page. You glanced around the room one last time. At Heizou whose already writing another theory. At Aether helping organize the supplies. At Xiao standing near the door with the faintest hint of amusement on his face. At Kuni quietly complaining to Kazuha, who was listening with that patient smile of his. At Venti trying to sneak another snack. And at Jean, who looked tired enough to fall asleep at her desk but still somehow kept everything running.

You smiled, "I think I'll join."

Jean perked up. For the first time that afternoon, she looked genuinely relieved. "Welcome to the club."

Kuni nodded towards you, then toward Kazuha. "...Another one."

Kazuha patted his shoulder. "Be nice."

"I am being nice."

"You are?" Kuni face-palmed. "...Fine."

From across the room, Venti raised his hand. "Does this mean everyone gets snacks as a welcome for them?"

Jean closed her eyes. "No."

"But-"

"No."

Heizou wrote something onto the case board.

CASE CLOSED

Then, underneath it: NEW MEMBER ACQUIRED.

You blinked. "...Did you just make me joining the club sound like we caught a criminal?"

Heizou grinned, "Perhaps." You looked at Jean. She just shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

You weren't sure whether that was reassuring. But you smiled anyway.

Here's the first chapter!! Thank you so much for showing interest! It's my first time writing and please forgive me if there's any spelling mistake or bad grammar. There might be some possible OOC but hopefully you be able to forgive me for it 🥹. I'll be naming Wanderer as Kuni here to avoid awkwardness. I got the image banner from Pinterest so if anyone knows who the Artist is please let me know! Thank you! 🤭

Your teacher stared at the clock. Then at the students and then sighed.

"Before everyone disappears." The room gradually settled. Though not completely. There were still whispers here and there, but at least everyone was facing the front again. Your teacher picked up a stack of papers from the desk.

"I've been checking the extracurricular registrations." A few students groaned while you rested your cheek against your palm. You had completely forgotten about that and apparently, you weren't the only one.

"Several of you still haven't joined a club." Someone near the back muttered,

"Maybe because we don't want to." Your teacher heard it.

"Then perhaps you should consider wanting to." A few students laughed while your teacher smiled faintly before continuing.

"Your extracurricular activities count toward your school requirements. So if you haven't registered yet, please do so before the deadline." The room immediately became louder.

"Does helping in the library count?"

"Yes."

"What about tutoring?"

"If it's registered through the school."

"Does sleeping count?"

"No." The student who asked slowly lowered his hand.

"Worth a try." You smiled to yourself and looked toward the bulletin board at the side of the classroom. There were dozens of club posters pinned across it. Some were colorful and new while the others were old enough that their corners had started curling.

Literature Club, Art Club, Music Society, Basketball Club, The Student Council and near the bottom, partly hidden behind another poster, was a simpler one. Black lettering. A small magnifying glass drawn beneath it.

MYSTERY & INVESTIGATION CLUB

You stared at it. You couldn't remember seeing that one before. Maybe because it looked like someone had printed it five minutes before the deadline.

"Still haven't picked one?"

You turned towards your classmate. You shook your head.

"Not yet."

"You should join something easy."

"Such as?"

"Anything that doesn't require running."

"You hate running."

"Exactly." You laughed.

Another classmate leaned over from the desk behind you.

"What about the Mystery Club?"

Your eyes drifted back toward the poster.

"That one?"

"Yeah." There was a pause.

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Not really."

Another student joined the conversation.

"I heard they're actually good."

"At solving mysteries?"

"Apparently."

Someone across the room turned around and joined the conversation.

"My older brother knows someone who joined."

"And?"

"He said they take everything seriously." A pause, "...Mostly."

You raised an eyebrow, "What does that mean?"

Nobody answered immediately. Finally, the first student shrugged.

"I think they're just... weird."

"Bad weird?"

"No."

"Good weird?" Another shrug.

"Just weird."

You looked back at the poster. That was somehow more interesting than if they'd simply told you not to join. "What kind of mysteries do they solve?"

"Matters of any kind, supposedly."

"Like?"

"Lost things, strange noises and some missing stuff."

"Missing stuff?"

"One time they found a missing phone."

"That's useful."

"Yeah."

"And another time?" Someone snorted. "They investigated someone's missing lunch."

You turned. "Did they find it?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" A pause.

"The refrigerator." You stared and unconsciously raised an eyebrow.

"...Why did they need an investigation for that?" Your classmate smiled.

"That's what everyone keeps asking." The bell rang again. Finally signalling the end of the day. Everyone began gathering their things. You looked at the Mystery Club poster one more time. For some reason, you couldn't stop thinking about it.

The hallway was crowded after class. Students moved in every direction, conversations overlapping until they became one indistinct hum. You slipped through the crowd with your bag over one shoulder, still thinking about the clubs. Maybe you would join the art club. It seemed quiet. The library club sounded nice too. The Mystery Club... You weren't sure. You were about to turn towards the stairs when three students came into view farther down the corridor.

You recognized two of them from around school. Albedo and Sucrose, the Student Council President and Vice. The third student was someone you didn't know. She was carrying several folders against her chest. They walked past a classroom before slowing near the corner. You weren't trying to listen, but the hallway had briefly emptied, and a few words carried.

"...again?"

"I'm sure it's nothing." Sucrose's voice. Another voice answered, quieter.

"That's what you said last time."

You couldn't make out the response. The three continued walking. You only caught fragments as you passed in the opposite direction.

"...club..."

"...report..."

"...don't worry..."

Then the corridor became noisy again. You glanced back. They had already disappeared around the corner. You wondered what that had been about. But only for a moment. There were still club registrations to worry about.

You eventually found yourself on the older side of the school building. You weren't entirely sure how you'd gotten there. Maybe you had unconsciously followed the club directory. Maybe curiosity had won, either way, the hallway here was noticeably quieter. The walls were lined with old photographs of school activities. Some had faded so badly that you could barely recognize the faces of the students and faculty involved. At the very end of the hall was a small wooden door. A sign hung on it.

MYSTERY & INVESTIGATION CLUB

You stopped. So this was it. The sign looked slightly crooked. You stepped closer. Someone had written beneath the official lettering in much smaller handwriting:

Please leave your common sense at the door.

You stared at it. "...That's reassuring."

Below the sign was another smaller piece of paper. A list of previous cases, most were handwritten.

Missing Class Keys : SOLVED

Strange Noise in the Auditorium : SOLVED

Unknown Footprints Behind Gym : SOLVED

Disappearance of Three Custard Buns : SOLVED

"...Custard buns?", you muttered to yourself. There was a note beside it.

Venti denies everything.

You blinked. You weren't sure whether that made the club sound more competent or less. Still, you knocked. Once. Nothing. You waited for a moment and knocked again. Still nothing. You pressed your ear to he door. There was a muffled voice inside. Multiple of them, actually.

"...told you."

Another voice answered.

"You absolutely did not."

A third, "Can we just check the table?"

Then, a loud thud echoed. You jumped. Something crashed inside. A moment of silence followed. Then, "Nobody move."

You stared at the door. "...Should I come back later?". Someone inside immediately shouted:

"No!"

You out our hand on he knob and slowly opened the door. The room was... Not what you expected. There were books stacked along the walls. A large corkboard occupied most of one side of the room, covered with photographs, handwritten notes, newspaper clippings, and colored strings connecting different pieces of information. A desk sat beneath the window. Several chairs had been pushed together around a table. There were magnifying glasses, notebooks, a camera and a box labeled: EVIDENCE : DO NOT TOUCH but someone had clearly touched it. There was also a half-empty box of crackers beside it. You weren't sure if that counted as evidence. The room looked like a detective club had collided with a storage room and neither had survived.

In the middle of everything stood a boy holding a notebook and staring intensely at an empty snack wrapper. He looked up and his eyes immediately found yours.

"You." You pointed at yourself, "...Me?"

"Yes, are you here about the case?" You looked at the wrapper.

"...What case?"

"The missing snacks."

A voice from the other side of the room sighed. "It's been ten minutes." You glanced over where the voice came from. A boy sat near the window with a book open in his lap. He seemed completely calm. Almost suspiciously calm as though this was a normal occurrence (which it could be). Beside him, another boy stood with his arms crossed. He looked at the snack wrapper, then at the boy holding the notebook. Then at you. "Don't encourage him."

"It's a perfectly legitimate investigation," the boy replied.

"It's potato chips."

"Missing potato chips."

"It's still potato chips."

You weren't sure whether you should laugh or stay silent, but decided not to say anything. The boy by the window closed his book and smiled. "I'm Kazuha."

He gestured casually toward the others. "The one investigating is Heizou." Heizou gave you a small nod without taking his eyes off the table.

"The one near the cupboard is Venti." Venti waved cheerfully, "Hello."

Kazuha's gaze shifted toward the boy with his arms crossed. "And that's Kuni."

Kuni frowned. "I can introduce myself."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you let me?" Kazuha smiled.

"You looked busy."

"I wasn't."

"You were complaining."

"I was making an observation." Kazuha nodded solemnly.

"Of course."

Kuni stared at him, "...You're enjoying this."

"A little."

Kuni pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. You had to cover your smile. Kazuha continued as though nothing had happened. "And that's Xiao."

You looked toward the direction he was facing. A boy stood at the corner of the room, holding a tiny crumb between his fingers. He looked at it, then gestured at Heizou.

"...I found this."

Heizou's eyes lit up. "Excellent."

Xiao's face went blank. "It's a crumb."

"Evidence."

Xiao stared at him. For a second, you thought he might argue. Instead, he sighed.

"...Fine."

He walked toward the table and placed the crumb beside the empty wrapper.

Then he looked toward the door. "I'll check outside." And walked away. Kuni watched him go. "He could've said no." Kazuha smiled.

"He could have."

"Then why didn't he?"

Kazuha simply patted Kuni's shoulder. "That's how he is."

Kuni seemed to accept this answer. "...Fair."

You weren't sure what was more amusing, the investigation itself.. Or the fact that everyone seemed completely accustomed to this. Then the door opened behind you and a boy stepped inside carrying a small notebook.

"Jean said you were looking for me." He stopped when he noticed you and smiled, "Oh. Hi, I'm Aether."

You introduced yourself. He glanced towards the table and then at Heizou.

"What's the situation?"

Heizou held up the empty wrapper. "Several snacks have disappeared."

Aether looked at it, then at the table and slowly towards Venti, who was standing suspiciously close to the snack cupboard. "...I see."

He looked back at Heizou. "Did you check the hallway"

"Xiao's doing that."

"The trash?" Aether was already walking toward the bin. "I'll check."

Kuni watched him go. "You're actually taking this seriously?"

Aether glanced over his shoulder. "It's evidence."

Kuni face-palmed, "...Oh no."

Aether returned a moment later with an old receipt and absolutely no snacks. "Nothing." Kuni folded his arms. "Told you." Aether shrugged, "Had to check." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added: "Besides, I found a cat in the hallway earlier" Kuni stared at him.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It could've been involved."

"It was a cat."

"A very suspicious cat."

You glanced at Kazuha's way. He was quietly smiling. Kuni looked like he knew where this is going.

"You spent ten minutes following it, didn't you?"

"It kept looking back at me!"

"Because you were following it!" Kazuha finally laughed and you couldn't help joining him. Kuni looked between the two of you. "See what I have to deal with?"

Kazuha gave his shoulder another gentle pat. "You'll survive."

"I'd rather die."

The last member of the club finally stepped in the room. She crossed the room silently as she placed her folders down on the desk near the window carefully. She surveyed the room. The papers, the evidence board, the snack wrapper, Venti, the crumb and then finally all 6 pairs of eyes trained on her. Her expression barely changed.

"Please tell me nobody broke anything."

"No," Aether answered.

"Good."

She scanned the room again, "Xiao?"

"Nothing's broken," came his distant reply. She nodded. She then turned towards you. You recognized her now. The person you'd seen walking with Albedo and Sucrose. She gave you a polite smile.

"I'm Jean."

Ah. So that was her name.

You introduced yourself. Jean glanced toward the empty chair near the table.

"Are you looking for a club?"

You nodded. "Maybe."

"We'd be happy to have you."

You looked around you. Heizou was studying the empty wrapper like it contained the secrets of the universe. Aether was inspecting the trash, again. Xiao had returned from the hallway with absolutely nothing. Kuni was muttering something to Kazuha. Kazuha was listening patiently. Venti was eating another snack. And Jean was apparently deciding whether this counted as a successful afternoon.

You looked at her. "Is this normal?" Jean paused. Kuni immediately answered. "No."

Kazuha gently patted his shoulder. "It is."

Kuni looked at him. "...Don't undermine me."

Jean sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

A loud thump came from somewhere outside and everyone froze while Jean slowly looked towards the door. "...What was that?"

Aether opened his mouth as if I say something but decided otherwise. Kuni looked at Kazuha with a raised brow while Kazuha only smiled at him. Xiao check the hallway from the door: "Nothing's broken." Jean relaxed. "Good." She picked up her pen.

You stared at her, dumbfounded. "That's your concern?" She looked at you. "At this point?" A short pause, "As long as nobody burns the school down, the club is doing fine."

You laughed and somehow... That made your decision a little easier.

The investigation itself turned out to be surprisingly organized. At least, after you figured out how everyone worked. Heizou insisted on reconstructing the scene. Aether checked practical places. Xiao always inspected the hallway despite looking mildly inconvenienced by the entire situation. Kazuha noticed details everyone else overlooked. Kuni complained about the investigation while somehow contributing useful information every few minutes. Venti was the prime suspect. And Jean sat at her desk filling out paperwork.

You watched for a while, then finally asked: "Do you need help?"

Jean glanced your way and smiled, "Actually..."

She handed you a sheet of paper. "Could you write down what everyone finds?"

You took it. "Sure."

That was how you ended up standing beside the investigation board. It wasn't long before Kazuha leaned over. "You're doing well."

"Thank you."

Kuni looked over too, "Don't encourage them."

Kazuha beamed, "You always say that."

"Because you encourage everyone."

"That's true." Kuni huffed, "...whatever."

You gave them a small smile. Maybe this wasn't such a bad place after all.

Eventually, Aether returned from the trash bin. "Nothing."

Xiao came back from the hallway (again). "Nothing."

Kazuha glanced at the floor, then at the cupboard. "Wait."

Everyone turned. He pointed toward a few crumbs on the floor.

"They lead there." Heizou immediately moved and opened the cupboard. Inside sat a cardboard box. Heizou slowly lifted the lid, and to everyone's surprise (Kuni: Not really) the missing snacks were inside. Silence envelope the hole room.

You gaped. "...They're right there."

Heizou slowly nodded. "Fascinating."

Kuni gawked at him. "We spent twenty-three minutes investigating something that was sitting in a storage box!"

Aether looked at the clock. "Twenty-four, actually."

Kuni pivoted to him. "Why were you timing us?"

"I wasn't."

"Then how did you-"

Jean spoke without looking up from her paperwork. "Please take it outside if you will." Everyone stopped. Jean glanced around the room. The walls are still standing, no windows were broken, and nobody was on fire. She returned to her paperwork. "Good enough."

Venti reached for another snack. "Put it back." She warned, without looking up.

Venti froze. "...But-"

"Put it back." He slowly returned it while pouting.

You snicked while wondering that maybe you had found the right club after all.

You looked down at the membership form Jean had given you earlier. Your pen hovered over the page. You glanced around the room one last time. At Heizou whose already writing another theory. At Aether helping organize the supplies. At Xiao standing near the door with the faintest hint of amusement on his face. At Kuni quietly complaining to Kazuha, who was listening with that patient smile of his. At Venti trying to sneak another snack. And at Jean, who looked tired enough to fall asleep at her desk but still somehow kept everything running.

You smiled, "I think I'll join."

Jean perked up. For the first time that afternoon, she looked genuinely relieved. "Welcome to the club."

Kuni nodded towards you, then toward Kazuha. "...Another one."

Kazuha patted his shoulder. "Be nice."

"I am being nice."

"You are?" Kuni face-palmed. "...Fine."

From across the room, Venti raised his hand. "Does this mean everyone gets snacks as a welcome for them?"

Jean closed her eyes. "No."

"But-"

"No."

Heizou wrote something onto the case board.

CASE CLOSED

Then, underneath it: NEW MEMBER ACQUIRED.

You blinked. "...Did you just make me joining the club sound like we caught a criminal?"

Heizou grinned, "Perhaps." You looked at Jean. She just shrugged. "You'll get used to it."

You weren't sure whether that was reassuring. But you smiled anyway.

Here's the first chapter!! Thank you so much for showing interest! It's my first time writing and please forgive me if there's any spelling mistake or bad grammar. There might be some possible OOC but hopefully you be able to forgive me for it 🥹. I'll be naming Wanderer as Kuni here to avoid awkwardness. I got the image banner from Pinterest so if anyone knows who the Artist is please let me know! Thank you! 🤭

There's multiple things going through Kunikuzushi's head when he sees your lifeless, dead body on the stage, blood coating his delicate white shoes and the plain tiles of the stage. 

The first thing, was that he should've expected this.

All the way back in Anakt, when even he was nothing more than the creation of a lab project, he knew you wouldn't survive in your future. He knew this, had this feeling engraved into his very skin the moment he saw you frolicking about in the fake grass and the fake sky, before he even grasped the certainty of his own future. Your candid smile as you accidentally tripped over some other kid's music notes, not bothering to check where your notes might be.

He had decided, from that moment, that he didn't like you very much.

Each and every time an alien tweaked his vocals, or he was forced to recite the same tune over and over again, you were always the headache that popped up in his head. Dear old you, with your messed up hair and somehow dirty face. He wondered, at those moments, what had made him so drawn to you, the one who seemed to not value their own life within how you just don't care.

Your nonchalance about your certain death, about not being able to beat round one, irritated him. And, as said by his owner, Ei, a more human-looking alien than the others, observing those below him would only deteriorate him from the inside. His artificial heart, no where near as warm as a real human, would tear itself apart from the inside, and leave him a jumbled mess.

So, he swore to himself that he wouldn't associate himself with you at any moment in his life, ever.

The second thing that goes through his head, was not a simple statement, but rather a question. Why couldn't he take his eyes off of you?

Even when he declared himself to never interact with you in any capacity, you still, somehow, with your annoying smile that was all wide and far too happy for your own good, attempted to get closer to him. He would be writing a new song, practicing his tone to match the perfect pitch, and you'd suddenly be right next to him, calling him boring for only paying attention to studies. 

Most times he ignored you, even as your annoying finger annoyingly poked at his cheek without any intention to stop. Sometimes he sneered, calling you names for not even touching your own. You never seemed too bothered, in fact, all you did was giggle like a maniac, wiping a year from the corner of your eye as he scrunched his brow, attempting to make sense of your insanity.

And then, you'd point at him, still teary eyed with uncontrollable laughter, "you look so ridiculous! Can't even handle someone in your presence without looking like an irritated cat?"

That's when he couldn't handle it anymore and ended up tackling you to the lush, fake grass below you, face even more scrunched up than before, though this time in pure agitation. People would gather, trying to catch more of the kid who never spoke to anyone suddenly attacking a poor person at the end of his presence.

Most times, his punches landed weak. He was created to be a "delicate star" on stage, strength wasn't really a primary thought when going through the process of DNA modification. He hated it, hated how his enclosed fist only wrought put more giggles from you when he pressed it against the sides of your stomach, and all you could say was "that tickles!" Over and over again like a mantra.

He took this time to observe you, really. Why you took over most of his mind 90% of the time when not even his notes stuck to his head like that. What made you even more of a glue to his thoughts than what he was quite literally created for? 

And yet, there was nothing super unordinary to you, aside from the fact that your genetics blessed you slightly in your various features. You were still annoying, with your face flushed with laughter and hair thrown about like you had no care for appearances. You were loud, abrasive, and the type of pet that no alien would like.

So why you?

The third thing he came to realize is that he didn't want to forget you.

Time after time, becoming even more of a nuisance the more you took the time to accompany him, he found himself unwillingly wanting to verge just a bit closer. When you ramble on whatever topic you deem interesting he pretends not to listen when all his "notes" were really just scribbles that he made to pay more attention to you. Sometimes you began poking his cheek again, and he had to yell at you out of frustration so that you wouldn't do it again.

He remembers each and every conversation that the two of you had, only because you kept reminding him of it. Each and everytime he either really didn't remember or feigned not to, you would make such a pitifully pouty expression that he had the urge to pinch your puffed up face. He didn't, however, he cared enough not to hurt you no matter how much you made him feel like hell, with the lump in his throat and warmth on his face. 

Sometimes he wrote some of them down to really please you, watch as your eyes light up in delight at making him finally acquiesce to jot down your endless squabble. He says it's only to please you, which is why he spends all night inspecting each and every sentence you spoke. Did you really speak like that? Was that your exact wording? He agonized it over multiple sleepless nights, and obtained multiple punishments thereafter due to his prominent dark circles. All because of your incessant nagging, he constantly reminded himself, you really were a pain.

But now there was nothing to remember, was it?

You were a lifeless corpse, played for the entertainment of the aliens. There would be no more of your annoying quips and that annoying smile that flashed a bit too prettily for his liking. No more of you holding his hands and twirling around in the cramped bedrooms, no more of you.

You.

You, who were bleeding out in front of him, as he stood there unable to do anything.

The points rounded up to a 65-80. You did good. Great, even, for someone who didn't pay attention to a single class or a single piece of note. But not good enough. You lost.

Your blood was still pooling and coagulating, your body beginning the process of livor mortis, rotting away like you should. The bullet was still engraved into your neck, hitting an artery too. The smile on your face that you gave him before the bullet shot you began to relax, the various glow sticks in the audience glowed erratically and they kept repeating his fucking name as if he could hear when the ringing in his ears was becoming louder and louder and all he could pay half a mind to was the fact that they were taking away your body-

And.

Your body.

They were taking it away.

Gloved hands wrapped around his midsection as he was beginning to be carried away by the alien staff, but all he could think about was your lifeless, no, lonely dead body. You hated being alone, he remembered. Sometimes you'd sneak out of your own room just to snuggle into him and he didn't say anything because your warmth was somehow appreciated in his cold bed. They were going to take you away, and you couldn't even do anything about it.

He tried to pull away, but his frustratingly weak body did him no favors. The grip was too strong, no matter how much he kicked and thrashed and screamed.

"Let go of me you piece of cra-!" A palm wrapped around his mouth, and he bit down harshly in retaliation. You were still dying, still rotting away lifelessly, he has to do something-

He realizes, that he can't do anything when they shock him with his collar. He's not shocked often, despite his brash and snarky personality. He knew when to and not to behave like a troublemaker, but you were the one who constantly obtained the ire of the aliens. You were the one who suffered shock scars around your neck, shivering pitifully on the grass as electricity still flowed through your veins. Sometimes he'd embrace you, using his arms to bring your still crying self closer for a semblance of comfort.

He can't do that anymore.

He's dragged off from the stage like a ragdoll, the tears and scrapes on his clothes and skin evident of that. Plopped down in nothing more than an uncomfortable bench, he brings his knees to his chest like you did when you were a child, when all you wanted to do was annoy him, disturb him and all. He recalls your words from a specific conversation, and bile rises up his throat when the ringing in his ears increases tenfold.

"When I die, remember me alright?"

You never even planned to live in the first place. He knew, he really knew. The way you smiled in gratification when the shocks from your collar were too much to bear, leading to unconsciousness. Or how you'd gobble down food too quickly and choke, only for no panic on your face to be seen whatsoever. You looked disappointed even, when your airways were cleared. 

He should've expected this. He shouldn't care.

But, no matter what, he'd keep that promise. He keeps too many promises from you anyway. He's just not sure how well he's looking forward to remembering your dead, rotten up face for the rest of his life. Just, don't blame him when all he can remember is you so lifeless, instead of all the times you attempted to cheer him up at childhood, alright?

You don't even know how long you've been here anymore. Every time you walk through that damn café front door, you return to the same room. Each time, it's as if you'd entered through the opposite door, like the rooms are lined up to infinity. But you know that's not what you're supposed to do, anyway.

Café Arroyo

You know what it's called. The business name is plastered on the window—backwards, to your eyes—Café Arroyo. Some small, clean little place. Probably on a street corner, maybe near a cute neighborhood. You never could tell, the windows only show a blinding white void.

Your eyes flick to the familiar sign hanging from the counter to your right.

"20% OFF ALL PASTRIES!"

You don't have money on you. That isn't the point, either. It just means two. Two loops you've successfully identified. Two times you've correctly decided whether or not this little coffee shop was different or exactly the same. It's usually pretty easy at this point, since you're so familiar with this particular round.

You try to think back to how you got here, but it gets blurrier every time you do. It started on a train, you think.

Or was it a bus?

Whatever. You had fallen asleep. Rookie move, but it was early in the morning. You hadn't expected your new job to ask you to show up at such an hour, but it's not like you were swimming in call-backs.

So when the train jostled to a stop, you shot your eyes open. The windows were so bright, you winced as soon as you looked at them. The people around you acting as if nothing was wrong.

The rest is history. Each room had a different goal. Sometimes it was only three in a row, it's even gone up to 12 before. But right here, right now, you stood in this café. With a thrilling streak of two correct conclusions, you can only assume your goal is ten.

Maybe you need 100% off pastries. Yeah, you could go for a pastry. They look just as fresh and warm as they did the first time you saw them. Which, was probably a while ago. You don't even bother tracking time.

Your eyes track around the small shop, taking in details like a well-oiled machine (if that machine was sleep-deprived and now craving a muffin) and cataloging everything. You scan your eyes up and down, from left to right, like you'd heard lifeguards do.

To your far left, a metal trash can in the corner. A neon sign of a flamingo hands above it, humming and flickering every few seconds. Normal.

Then, there's a large window along the left wall. Nothing behind it, of course, but two small tables next to it. One, the furthest from you, is empty and missing a chair. The other seats a boy with dark blue hair and a black hoodie on, he faces away from you. He traces the rim of his coffee mug, leaning against his fist and keeping his eyes down, almost as if he were trying to hide in the hood.

Like he always does.

Once you've scanned the small tables, your eyes have reached the far wall. There, you see the front door. It's glass, with a large metal handle running along the middle. It has 4 posters on it, but they don't face the inside, so you've never been able to read them. There's a silver bell above the door, only ever ringing when you decide the room is normal.

Then, the right side of the far wall has a booth, tucked into a dip in the layout and a large window sitbehind it, displaying the mirrored painted logo for the cafe. The only reason you know it's name. Two people sit there, opposite sides. One, a young red-haired woman. The other, a boy with a lip piercing and short black hair. They're making small talk with each other quietly, you've assumed it's a first date or something.

Well, not exactly their first. But it's not like you can tell them. They aren't interactable.

At least, that what you've coined it as.

There's always people in the scenes you explore. Sometimes they reply when you speak, sometimes they don't. This particular couple doesn't ever notice your existence. Or, they don't acknowledge it. Either way, you've stopped trying. The booth itself is a bubblegum pink, with a tear in the left seat. All familiar.

Finally, the right side of the room. The counter, the display case, the menu on the wall, and the barista. An almost retro-looking metal display case with a rounded glass front is closest to the back wall. You count one, two, three, six pastries inside. 2 muffins, 3 cupcakes, and a pie slice. The other side of it flattens to the check-out counter. Wooden shelves, classic black cash register, with a flimsy white gate connecting the inside of the counter with the outside eating area, a black chalkboard of a menu, and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

Everything looks normal. Which is always a little bit annoying because you've spent so much energy picking apart this room. You double check the walls—pink bricks and teal paint above it—the yellowish tainted ceiling, and the grimy white tiles below you.

You even check the back wall. It's plain, like usual. The sign on the door you had come through reads, "EMPLOYEES ONLY: DO NOT ENTER" and you hum in thought.

Everything is normal. Which is also pretty scary. Because, you can only assume you've missed something, or that you should risk trusting that this strange world could've tossed you a bone. You're deep in your thoughts when a cheesy bright voice makes you jump. You'd forgot the barista speaks.

"Can I take your order? Would you like to start with a coffee?" She smiles at you, her pink apron tied a bit too tight, her blonde hair back in what looks like an almost frantic bun. Her hand hovers over a white mug on the shelves behind her, she looks at you.

The same thing she always says. Right after about five minutes.

"No thanks." You mutter, your voice having no room left for performance. You shake off the nerves, the fear, and everything else that drowns your mind with stress, and push the front door open, walking into the bright nothingness. You hear the tiny bell chime, and your eyes squint at the blinding light.

But you keep walking. When you re-emerge from the back employee door, your eyes shoot to the sign hanging from the counter again.

"30% OFF ALL PASTRIES!"

You sigh in relief. Not that you had much of a streak to break, but you've been in this particular environment for a while. You've only gotten up to four, but there's always something you're missing that resets you. You don't think you've found it yet, so you can only hope it doesn't occur.

You scan the room again. The trash can, the boy, the door, the booth, the counter, the barista, and the food. You take a step further into the room. The couple continues to converse, talking about ordering a snack. You know they'll chat about the dirty floors, and then the brooding boy, and then the woman's pet cat. Then, they'll start over. You study the barista as she goes about her routine. She wipes the counter first, then tucks the cloth into her apron, moving to replace the coffee filter.

She'll speak to you soon. You look at the back wall, it's plain. Your eyes snap to the boy, and you sharply inhale. You don't usually look at his face, but you've seen it before. You've even spoken to him. He doesn't say anything too interesting, but what shocks you isn't that he's said anything.

He's looking at you. Right at you. None of the people ever look at you unless you speak directly to them, or vise-versa. You could scream and cry and no one looks up. You have, in fact, screamed and cried. But this boy is looking into your eyes, entirely unprompted.

You stare back. Maybe he looks at you when you get close to the door. You wouldn't have noticed. You usually, you know, face the door you're walking through. Maybe this is normal.

But something feels wrong. So, this is an anomalous scene. You'll turn around, then.

"Can I take your order?" The cheerful voice calls from behind you, but you're already pushing open the back door. Just like that, you've walked back into the cafe through the front entrance. You look at the boy immediately. He's looking down again, elbows on the table, pointer finger rounding the rim of the white mug of untouched coffee.

Right. Cool. You look at the sign on the counter and your heart drops.

"0% OFF ALL PASTRIES!"

The sight should have made you scoff on it's own. But it never does, because you know what it means. You've made a mistake. That scene was normal, too. Your eyes then flick to the boy. He's pretending nothing happened, you can only assume. It's not like his random curiosity cost you 20 minutes of inspection.

You sit at the table across from him. He glances up, expression slightly confused, but clearly too bored to care. He looks back down, delivering his usual line.

"You're blocking the light." He mutters, returning to the hypnotic trace of the white mug.

Now, you've had this conversation a few times. You could argue that you most certainly are not blocking the light, he's sitting next to the largest window known to man. You could bring up that he doesn't seem to be doing anything that requires light specifically. You could argue that he's blocking the light, too. But you have something better to bring up.

"You were looking at me," you squint at him, leaning just a bit closer as you speak in a low tone—just for him.

He does look up, "Excuse me?" His tone remains dry, almost dull. Like usual.

"Uh-uh," You point loosely, your brain running hundreds of times faster than usual, "the last loop. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?" You're not really asking.

The pure concept that he could be even the slightest bit aware—that anyone here could be—makes your breath quicken.

The boy looks up, catching your gaze with his dark, captivating eyes. A deep indigo, almost enchanting with the way the window's light catches them. But you don't get lost in them. You've already done that a few times. He doesn't speak.

"You do..." You lean back just a bit, looking at him. Cataloging every micro-expression he gives you, which still, isn't much.

"Can I take your order?" The bright voice makes you jump again. You glance at the woman at the counter, "Would you like to start with—"

"No," You look back at the boy, cutting off the barista. She hums and nods, before going back to her busywork. "Do you know whats happening?" You lean in again, closer, your tone almost conspiratory. Or it was just softening because of your growing migraine.

He scoffs and looks at the window. You're honestly impressed he can, seeing as your eyes are watering from just sitting beside it.

"What are you talking about? Find another table, lunatic."

And just like that, he resides into his usual posture. Tracing the mug, leaning on his fist. His cheek puffs slightly, you can't help but notice it. Cute little liar.

You debate prying more. This could be your way out. But as you open your mouth, your eyes catch on the trash can behind him.

It's open.

You sigh and stand up. Staying in an anomalous room for extended periods of time makes your head hurt and your stomach swell. That explains the migraine, and you don't want to stay long enough for the nausea.

With a parting glance at the boy in his hoodie, you step through the back door of the café, emerging through the front again and receiving your thrilling prize:

"10% OFF ALL PASTRIES!"

You're the best of friends. The bestest of friends. You've been friends for the longest time and Itto doesn't think it'll ever change. There's just no one else quite like you, you know? They just don't make them like that anymore. 

Which is why there's nothing Itto would ever even dream of changing about you. Your appearance was so easy on the eyes, he could look and look and keep looking. Your voice? Puts him right to sleep, in a good way. Your hobbies? There's not a single cooler person, like, objectively. Your taste in music? Ehh, he's caught you bobbing your head to some questionable stuff, but it's alright. 

See, nobody's perfect, and you're definitely no nobody, so Itto doesn't find the fact that you have flaws all that surprising. Everyone's gotta have a few. It's just that others have more of them than you. You've just got one.

You're damn fussy.

It's been like that ever since you were kids. He can't explain it, but despite being the same age, you seem to act like you're older, even though he knows for a fact you're not all that smart. Poser. Always fretting, and fussing, and – archon forbid – crying. Itto, take care! Itto, what happened? Itto, tell me the truth! Itto, what were you thinking? 

He hears that last one a lot. He always hears that last one a lot.

For example, there was that time when you were twelve. 

"Itto, what were you thinking? You're too fat for trees!" 

"Oh shaddup!" Archons, he doesn't need to hear more when he's red in the face already. For some reason, the ordinarily brazen oni really hates making a fool out of himself in front of you. Grandma Oni said it's because he wanted to crush you or something. He'd just yelled a 'nu uh!' over his shoulder as he'd run off to play in a hurry, but right now? Yeah, he'd love to crush you into an itty-bitty ball and shove you under the leaf litter so you can't see the way his eyes well with tears. "It's your kite that got stuck in there. At least I was tryin’ to – to do something about it!"

"I didn't want you to do anything about it!" you scold, crouching beside him. "It's just a kite, Itto! Show me where you're hurt! Is it bleeding?"

He flushes even more at the concern. What's it to you anyway? Nobody looks at Itto with that much care in their eyes, besides Granny. He's not sure what to do with the prickling feeling in his heart. "It's just a fall!” he yells, defiant. “A– and I hurt my butt, weirdo! I'm not showing you that."

You sit back, frustrated, and all of a sudden Itto watches your eyes well with tears, too.

"Can you walk?" You weakly sniffle, and he's suddenly utterly dumbfounded. What the heck is he supposed to do? You're seated there with furrowed brows and pursed lips as you stare straight into his eyes, and again he wishes he could crush you into a teeny-tiny ball and put you into his pocket, so you don't have to cry about anything (except being turned into a ball, he supposes). "Does it hurt a lot?"

He shakes his head, first a bit uncertainly, then with vigour. "I'm an Oni! I'm fine – stop! Hey, stop crying!"

Now, Itto can't remember how exactly he got home that day. It was just so long ago, he says every time someone asks. (He does. He just doesn't want to think too much about it.) You say it went something like this – he tried to stand up, fell on his butt again and started to cry. Then you half-dragged, half-carried him home through the woods, before heading home yourself. 

Itto hates that story. 

All he allows himself to remember is how much you'd prattled the whole way home (oh, so now you remember? you say every time his memory miraculously returns, and he turns away with a yapping gesture) and how you'd asked him, over and over – does it hurt? Can you stand? What were you thinking?

(He wasn't thinking. He remembers it being a little hard to think, what with your crestfallen expression right in front of him.)

What he can't really forget, no matter how hard he tries, is how much it sucked to see you cry. It sucks to see people cry in general, but something about your tears perturbes him more – especially when he's the cause. 

He tries to prevent it, really, but it just keeps happening over and over and over again. Itto is not used to failure, but it seems there's no winning here. You always find reasons to cry. 

Like that one time when you were young adults, and Itto had finished his first ever combat commission.

"Really, Itto," you chide, in that familiar way. Fretful and worried with your lips pressed tight, a small, watery glare directed at whatever new injury he's brought to your porch. He wants to tell you to go dry your eyes first, but he thinks you might take the scissors you used to cut gauze with, and snip off all his hair instead. "What did you think was going to happen after you rushed a whole horde like that? All by yourself? Seriously."

Itto rolls his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. He tells himself it's because of the sharp smell of antiseptic that lingers in the air. "Hah, they were just hilichurls! And, bug, if I spent all my time worryin’ about what was gonna go wrong, I'd never do anything at all!" He grins, despite the mess of bloodied gauze and cotton on your lap, and flicks your forehead. Hard enough to sting, and gentle enough to leave no mark. Itto knows himself. "Just like ya."

"Excuse me?" You swallow and roll your teary eyes. Itto watches your shoulders relax with no small amount of satisfaction. There's little he hates more than worrying his friends – and you're family. 

"Yeah, all you do is fuss and fuss –"

"I get loads done, okay? I just don't do stupid things. Archons, you fell off the roof last week! It's a wonder you didn’t break your tailbone."

"Blah blah.” Itto gestures with his hands, and you swat at them. “It's a wonder ya haven't lost your mind yet. You're so… fusty."

You laugh, clearly never expecting the word. Itto grins and privately thanks the old Fontainian novel he saw it in. The pain suddenly doesn’t feel even half as bad. 

"What did you – fusty? Where did you learn that? And honestly," you say, beginning to put the medical supplies away, having finished wrapping him up – "I should just become a doctor. I'm super used to you by now, and it can't get worse, right?"

Itto grins again. "I dunno about that. Don't ya think I'd better find out so you get lots of experience?" 

You snort again, and the pain diminishes further, and Itto suddenly wishes your face were a little closer. For some reason. He doesn't really get it, but whatever. At least you’d stopped looking like you were about to cry.

There was that time your boyfriend cheated on you, though, and there was no stopping your tears – half because Itto didn’t find it possible to stop them, and half because he didn’t think he even should. This was years later, way after his first ever commission, and Itto was truly at a loss this time. You cried, and you seethed, and you cried, quite unable to stop. This was no small thing, he’d realised. This was nothing to joke his way through. 

And then – for the very first time – Itto wished for the simpler tears of your childhood. He wished you’d just scrape a knee and bawl from the hurt and still head out to play the next day. Amble alongside him, your hand clasped in his, and root around in the underbrush for snails as he clambered up the trees for beetles.

For the first time, something was so irrevocably wrong Itto could smell it.

It smelled like grease, and leather. The smell of Shogunate buckles and Shogunate spears… in the staleness of your room. The windows have not been opened in some time, it seems. He throws them open, tosses the curtains aside, and kneels before you where you’re seated on the floor, lips pressed tight together as you fold in on yourself in grief. He frowns as he takes your trembling hands into his and clasps them tight, and you press your forehead into his shoulder, eyes scrunched shut.

“He came and took their vision, too,” your parent murmurs. Itto blinks, startled – he hadn’t even noticed them, and he notices everyone, and what – what are they talking about?

Itto looks sharply down at you. 

No vision. Not on your hip, or your shoulder, your chest, not anywhere. You sniffle a little and crawl into his arms, trembling, sprawled half on his lap and half across the floor. You don’t seem to need to look up to know his feelings – they seem to be as much yours, as yours are his.

“It’s true,” you mumble weakly, settling your cheek against Itto’s chest. All his frantic energy dissipates like a wisp of smoke in the breeze. “We got into a fight some days ago because I found out he cheated, and… he reported my vision as revenge.”

He feels your warm tears on his chest as you shudder once again, and he wraps his arms around you tight, tugging you as close as he can. He buries his nose into your hair. Your parent pats his shoulder and leaves the room.

Itto finds, then, that sometimes there is no cure for tears, and that there are only so many one can swallow. 

And he doesn’t want you swallowing even one. He cannot imagine what you must be feeling, but he can try – and every bit of emotion he can muster commands him to find your boyf– your ex, and sink his fist right into that asshole’s face. He’s always been envious of you. Itto knows full well that there is much he does not know, but there was no mistaking it – that flash of annoyance when you beat him at a game, his poorly-concealed derision when you boasted of your accomplishments, the way he laughed just a bit harder at jokes made at your expense than his, the way his eyes would linger greedily on your body, your smiles, and your vision.

I knew he wasn’t worth jack, he thinks, feeling a thrum of vindication. It is accompanied by guilt at having felt that at all. I knew all along.

Somehow he feels like you wouldn’t want to hear that right now.

What would you want to hear? Beating up that asshole can come later. Right now, you are in his arms, and he feels your bodies relax into one another as you finally regain your breaths, several minutes later. Your cheek is warm against his chest, and he suddenly wishes his lips were on your forehead.

(But now is kind of not the time for that, either.)

“How are ya feeling, bug?” He asks instead, gently, when you sit up. You reach weakly for a glass of water and he holds it up to your lips. “Here.”

You let him. “I… truthfully there’s not a whole lot I can even feel at all. My vision…” you rub your eyes. Even your voice is lower, raspier. Tired. “I mean, the cheating was bad enough, but it’s…”

“Not your fault,” he interjects. 

You blink, and there’s suddenly a small smile on your face, as bright as a crack in a glacier. “I know that. I’d started to feel a bit insecure but then I remembered he was way dumber than me.”

Itto doesn’t think he’s ever felt this relieved in his life before. He gives a tiny laugh. “Hell yeah he was! And he’s gonna turn even dumber once I’ve bashed his head into a rock and gotten your vision back.”

You gasp and pinch him then, eyes widening in reproach. And suddenly, he feels like he can breathe again, too. “Itto, no! The Shogun’s soldiers took my vision. He doesn’t have anything of mine. You know, maybe you’re just as dumb as him.” Before he can indignantly defend himself, you speak again, looking suddenly tired and serious once more. 

“No, that’s not true.” You press your cheek into his shoulder, nose against his muscular neck, and Itto suddenly realises he’s had his arms around you the whole time. His heart feels as though it were about to burst, what with how fast it’s been racing. 

“O– of course it’s not!” he protests. “Who do you think I am?”

You exhale. When you speak, your voice is soft, and your lips brush against his skin. “Arataki Itto, my bestest friend, and the smartest guy I know.”

He swallows. There’s a charged pause, and then–

“Sounds like a eulogy. You wanna kill me or what?”

You give a watery little laugh – the first of the week, your parents would later tell him with relieved smiles – and Itto tugs you just a little closer. Just a bit. “He was the funniest guy I knew, too.”

“Oh shut up.”

It takes a year to get your vision back. Sometime along the way, Kujou Sara snaps up his, too, although Shinobu is thankfully spared, much to his relief and yours. When you and the Arataki Gang finally make your way over to the Statue of the Omnipresent God in the dead of night, you find his vision at the very bottom. There’s yours too, by some circumstance – right next to his.

You walk all the way to Hanamizaka after, and then to the beach. When your feet tire, Itto throws you over his shoulder and you sigh, letting him. You're half asleep by the time you reach, but perk right up when Shinobu gives you a bit of roasted lavender melon. It's sweet and savoury all at once.

Itto privately thinks your smiles are just a bit sweeter. Just a bit. And when you meet his eyes, glowing and radiant, vision clasped in one hand, he looks into the fire and finds it to be not quite as bright as you.

“So that's when I realised – uh, I've been talkin’ a while, haven't I?” Itto rubs the back of his neck. “That's when I remembered what Granny said about crushing – yeah. So basically, I love you, more than pretty much anything.” He looks at you, hesitant but bright eyed, the sunlight glinting off the sea right into those beautiful red irises. “So.” He swallows. “So, uh, wanna go out with me? I mean, I know we're already out, in a way – but I meant on a date, with–”

You cover your eyes and turn away, sniffling.

“Huh?” he exclaims. “D- dude! Okay, no need! You don’t gotta date me, okay? It’s fine! I don’t even care!”

You make a choked sound, something between a sob and a laugh, and Itto jumps off the rock you were both seated on in panic. His feet crunch against the sandy beach as he whirls towards you in a hurry.

“Okay, I care! I lied, I'm sorry! What the heck are you cryin’ for?” He takes your hands in his. “I’m not that bad – am I?” You exhale, regaining your breaths and look him in the eyes. He scowls. “Do not say yes.”

You shake your head with a smile, damp eyes glimmering like the sea. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, so he prepares to return the banter he expects, and is startled when you go–

“I would never.”

He blinks. “That’s not true.”

“I–” you pause, and tilt your head. It’s adorable. Itto wishes he could kiss you. “Okay, yeah, I would. But not now.” You free one of your hands from his grasp, and dab at your eyes. “I was kind of crying just now–”

“You were fully crying just now–”

You swat at him, so light he barely feels it. He grins, and your smile widens, and now he really wants to kiss you. He likes these tears, he realises. He loves when you're so happy, you cry. “No I wasn’t, but I almost did because I – wouldn’t you cry, if I talked on and on about our memories and how much I loved you?”

Itto’s face burns. “Me? I never cry.”

You scoff. “I didn’t realise Oni pride allowed lying.”

“Shush!” he says, and you laugh. He can’t put his finger on it, but somehow you seem to have softened. The hand that’s still in his grasp wraps around one of his palms, and you’re leaning towards him, radiant and beautiful, and Itto wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do if you say no. He figures, heart beginning to pound frantically, that he’ll at least burn this memory into his eyelids. He was going to do that anyway, though.

You stop his mind from wandering further by hopping off the rock and cupping his face in your palms. He feels your grip tighten just a little when you tug him towards your face, and his heart feels as though it’ll burst. That’d happen to anyone, he tells himself – heaven’s sake, he’s looking right into your eyes, and they’re so close, and closer and closer–

“Itto,” you whisper, as though you’re tasting his name on your tongue for the very first time. Careful and deliberate. He hums quietly as he tilts his head toward yours and draws you into his arms without quite realising. You boop your nose to his. “I wanna kiss you. Do you mind?”

“No,” he croaks. You burst into a fit of giggles, and he rolls his eyes, bumping his forehead to yours. You give a little ouch, even though he knows it didn’t hurt. He clears his throat. “No, I don’t.”

You beam, and it feels like the sunset’s never gonna end. “Great. Because I love you, Itto, so much, and I have for the longest time. So I’m going to make up for it by kissing you lots, ‘kay?”

“Well get to it then,” he complains, as red as the sky behind him, and you laugh and lean forward and kiss him. Once, twice, and thrice, for good luck. And once more, just because. And then a last one, because there’s five members in the Arataki Gang. And then a last one – the last of just now, of course – because there’s also you.

𑣲⋆ tysm for reading !! please take care of yourselves !! ilu <33

The first time you meet Xiao, it is during a storm violent enough to drive ships back toward harbor and send fishermen cursing toward the shore with saltwater dripping from their clothes. You had always loved storms; loved the way the sea seemed to shrug off every soft thing mortals insisted on calling it and become, for a few brief hours, what it truly was. There had always been honesty in rough waters. The ocean was not cruel, no matter how often humans gave it that name, and it was not kind either. It simply was. It consumed and nurtured with the same indifference, and perhaps that was why you had never understood mortals particularly well. You had been resting beneath the surface, drifting lazily through dark currents and listening to whale-song somewhere far beneath you, when you felt something old standing at the shore. Not heard—felt. Something powerful enough that even through layers of sea and rain, your instincts stirred with recognition. Curious, you rose slowly through the water, emerging beneath a sky heavy with clouds and silver rain, and found a young adeptus standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea with a spear already in hand.

Young, of course, was relative. Mortals would never have called him that. Mortals would have looked at him and seen an immortal creature untouched by time, something ancient and untouchable and distant from themselves. But you had lived through wars older than their kingdoms, had watched gods rise and fall and landscapes carve themselves into new shapes beneath centuries of wind and tide. To you, there was something unmistakably young about him. Not in his face, nor in his power, but in the way conviction sat so fiercely inside him, untempered and absolute. His eyes found you immediately and narrowed, and without greeting, without hesitation, without so much as asking your name, he said:

"Stop killing humans."

You remember staring at him for several long moments afterward, not because you had not heard him, but because your mind genuinely struggled to process what had just happened. Rain slid down your skin and gathered at your jaw before falling back into the sea, and eventually you asked, with complete sincerity:

"...What?"

The expression on his face did not change in the slightest.

"Stop attacking humans," he repeated, with all the certainty of someone stating an obvious truth, and for a second you simply looked at him before laughter burst from you so suddenly you nearly slipped back beneath the water entirely. It was absurd. Entirely absurd. You had expected threats, perhaps violence, perhaps accusations or demands or grand declarations about justice and morality, but there was something almost unbelievable about the simplicity of it. He had walked to the edge of an ocean and asked it not to be an ocean anymore.

You spent the next several minutes tormenting him for your own entertainment. You asked whether he walked into forests and demanded predators stop hunting, whether he intended to lecture every shark and wolf and hawk in Teyvat next, whether he planned on throwing himself into the sea to physically prevent you from feeding if you decided not to listen. The more serious he became, the more delighted you grew, until eventually, after watching irritation gather steadily in his expression, you leaned forward slightly and smiled at him.

"And if I get hungry?" you asked sweetly. "Will you let me eat you instead?"

You had expected anger. Expected threats. Expected some sharp retort. Instead he simply stared at you for a long moment before turning around and walking away entirely, leaving you blinking after him in disbelief before dissolving into laughter hard enough to send ripples through the surrounding waves.

You think, later, that perhaps it should have ended there. Immortal lives crossed paths often enough, and there had been countless people you had known briefly before losing them to time or war or simple distance. Yet somehow he kept returning. At first your conversations remained practical, almost cold in their simplicity. You warned him of dangerous currents and disturbances beneath southern waters; he warned you of monsters in the mountains and remnants of old gods stirring where they should not have been. They were short exchanges spoken out of convenience more than anything else, two ancient creatures sharing information because doing so was useful. But centuries are strange things, and relationships built over centuries do not change suddenly. There was never a moment where you realized you had become friends. There was no grand revelation waiting for you one day. There was simply Xiao sitting beside you on the shoreline longer than usual one evening, staring out toward distant lanterns floating over Liyue Harbor before quietly saying:

"I remember when none of that was there."

You remember turning to look at him then. Really look at him. Moonlight had scattered itself over the sea in broken pieces, and for a moment his expression had softened into something almost distant.

"...I remember too," you had said quietly.

And perhaps that had been the first truly important thing between you, because no mortal could have understood what he meant. No mortal could understand remembering landscapes before they became landscapes, remembering old gods and old wars and old names worn away by time until nothing remained of them. But you understood. You remembered too. Somewhere after that your conversations stopped feeling like conversations between strangers and started feeling like something else entirely.

The trinkets began so quietly that neither of you ever agreed on who had started it, and you suspect now that this was deliberate—that some unspoken rule had decided early on that naming the thing would ruin it. The first was a pearl. You had found it lodged in the ribs of a sunken ship, half-buried in silt that had probably been settling there since before Liyue had a name worth remembering, and when you held it to the light it caught a strange grey-green color that reminded you, absurdly, of the particular shade his eyes turned when he was trying very hard not to look interested in something. You did not think about it for long. You simply pocketed it, found him sometime later sitting on a rock with his spear across his knees like he expected the sky itself to attack him, and dropped it into his palm without explanation.

He looked at it. Looked at you. Looked at it again.

"What is this for?"

"Nothing," you said. "I was bored and it reminded me of you. That's all."

He turned the pearl over in his fingers for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his expression, and then—without any further comment—closed his hand around it and put it away. You did not see it again for years, and you told yourself you had simply forgotten about it, the way you told yourself many things during that century.

Several weeks later he returned with a small carved bird, wings caught mid-motion, the wood worn smooth in places as though he had spent considerable time turning it over in his hands before deciding it was acceptable. He set it down beside you on the rocks with the elaborate casualness of someone who had rehearsed the gesture and was now furious at himself for rehearsing it.

"I happened to pass a market," he said, not looking at you. "It was there."

"You happened to pass a market," you repeated, "and a wooden bird happened to follow you home."

"It is not significant."

"Of course not."

"I am only telling you because you would have asked otherwise."

"I wasn't going to ask anything."

"You were already opening your mouth."

You had, in fact, already been opening your mouth, and the indignation on his face when you laughed at having been caught was worth every second of it. He looked, for one brief moment, genuinely offended—the particular offense of someone who has done something soft and been immediately punished for it with delight—and you had to physically restrain yourself from telling him how endearing he looked when flustered, mostly because you suspected it would end the bird-giving permanently.

After that it simply became a habit neither of you acknowledged as a habit. You brought him things from the ocean floor—sea glass worn smooth by decades of tide, shells with strange iridescent insides, a polished black stone you'd found wedged beneath an old anchor that you thought looked like something out of the deep trenches where even you rarely went. He brought you things from the mountains—wildflowers that wilted before you could press them, small carved figures from villages whose names you never quite caught, an old coin once from a kingdom that no longer existed, which he presented to you with the gravity of someone handing over a relic of considerable importance.

"Where did you even find this," you asked, turning the coin over.

"Robbed a tomb," he said.

You stared at him.

"I am joking," he added, after a pause too long to be reassuring.

"Xiao."

"It was already open."

You did not get a clearer answer than that, not that day or any day after, and you decided eventually that you preferred it as a mystery. The shelf in whatever dwelling you kept at the time slowly filled with these small offerings—stones beside carvings, shells beside coins, the pearl eventually reappearing on his side of things tucked into a pouch he thought you didn't know about—and neither of you ever called it anything. You noticed, somewhere along the way, that you had begun choosing things specifically because you thought he would like them, rather than because they simply reminded you of him. You noticed, too, that he had stopped pretending the things he brought you were incidental, though he never said so directly. He simply stopped performing the casualness, and one day handed you a small bundle of qingxin flowers without any preamble at all, watching your face carefully as though gauging whether the gesture had been too much.

It had not been too much. You only wished, looking back, that you had told him so at the time instead of simply tucking the flowers behind your ear and changing the subject, the way you did with anything that threatened to become too sincere too quickly.

Years later, when you finally decided to take human form and live among mortals for a while, you told yourself it had been curiosity that drove you toward Liyue Harbor. Humans had changed so much, after all. They had become clever in ways they once had not been. Their cities had grown larger and brighter and louder. They fascinated you. It had absolutely nothing to do with Xiao spending more time there. Absolutely nothing. You repeated this to yourself while standing in the middle of the harbor feeling utterly overwhelmed by noise and movement and warmth and people brushing against your shoulders every few seconds. You were considering whether dramatically throwing yourself back into the ocean would be excessive when Xiao found you standing there looking vaguely murderous.

His eyes moved slowly over you. Paused. Moved back up again.

"...You look strange."

You stared at him for several seconds.

"That was unbelievably rude," you said, very slowly.

"I meant it as an observation."

"It was an insult dressed up as an observation."

"You have two legs now. I was adjusting."

"You could have adjusted silently."

He opened his mouth, seemed to reconsider whatever he had been about to say, and instead settled on a look that suggested he believed himself to be the wronged party in this exchange, which only made the whole thing funnier. The horrified realization that crossed his face minutes later, once he understood exactly how badly that comment had landed, remained one of your favorite memories for centuries—up there with the wooden bird and the tomb coin and the day he discovered, to his great and lasting dismay, that human food had a tendency to stain.

The assumptions from others began not long after that. You thought they were delightful. Xiao thought they were baffling. Shopkeepers smiled knowingly whenever the two of you entered together; strangers looked at you both with amusement hidden in their expressions; a tea vendor once asked, with no small amount of mischief, how long the two of you had been courting, and watched with open glee as Xiao went rigid trying to formulate an answer to a question that had never occurred to him as a question. The worst of it—the best of it, depending on which of you was asked—came from a bakery owner who pressed a couples' discount on you both without waiting to be corrected, cheerfully referring to Xiao as your husband as though the matter were already settled.

"Husband?" Xiao repeated, as though the word itself required translation.

You did not give him the chance to recover. You grabbed his hand, thanked the woman with entirely too much enthusiasm, and felt him go completely still beside you—the particular stillness of a man encountering a disaster he did not have the tools to address. He stared down at your intertwined hands as though they belonged to someone else entirely, and you spent the remainder of the afternoon refusing to let go, partly to torment him and partly, you admitted only to yourself, because his hand was warmer than you expected and you found you did not especially want to give that up.

He did not pull away. You noticed that, too, and filed it away with everything else you weren't yet ready to examine.

The problem, you would realize much later, was that somewhere along the way it stopped being a joke. Somewhere between centuries of shared conversations and exchanged gifts and familiar footsteps beside you, his hand in yours had begun feeling natural. Somewhere along the way your eyes had started seeking him out automatically in crowded places, picking his stillness out of a sea of motion before you had even consciously decided to look. Somewhere along the way Xiao had become the one constant thing in your life, more permanent than tides, more permanent than the harbor lanterns or the mountains or your own restless wandering. After thousands of years spent watching everything else change, that should have terrified you more than it did.

You only realized the full depth of it in the Chasm, when someone told you Xiao was gone and the world seemed to narrow with sudden terrible clarity around those words. You had lived through wars and destruction and grief beyond counting; you had buried people and watched kingdoms disappear beneath history; you had thought yourself long accustomed to loss. Yet none of it prepared you for the possibility of losing him. Nothing prepared you for seeing him fall, or for the unbearable relief that followed when he was caught before disappearing forever. You barely remembered reaching him afterward. You only remembered pulling him into your arms and holding him with enough force that it almost hurt, remembered your hands shaking against his back and your voice breaking as you called him an idiot over and over again because anything else felt impossible.

Very slowly, almost hesitantly, his arms had lifted around you in return.

"I thought I would never see you again," he said quietly, his forehead resting against your shoulder.

Then come the mentions of his name– this he needs to keep an ear out for. Although, not every murmured Xiao is a summons– intent matters, after all. Such passing mentions are commonplace. Although they are littered all over his subconscious like scattered leaves in the wake of a storm, Xiao pays them little heed.

Lastly, Xiao hears all else– if he so wishes. A conversation between two drunk men at Chihu Rock, the furious hisses of a mother-cat unwilling to let anyone near the minuscule flakes of lint she calls her kittens, the soft cheeps of the finches as they return home to roost after a long, dry day of foraging. (They have his sympathy– the fourth month is upon them, and the sun beams smugly upon all the world beneath.)

Then– if he strains his ears enough– your laughter. And, for the past couple weeks, someone else laughs alongside you, when you ought be heading home quite alone. 

And it would mean nothing, nothing at all. If. If.

(He imagines what it would be like, to walk you home, shoulder to shoulder. He dismisses the vision.)

It means nothing even now, he reminds himself, not knowing why he needs reminding. What conceivable reason could there be?

Xiao has known you for a long time. Years of unlikely friendship. Perhaps, he allows, it is precisely because he has few friends that he feels… protective. Yes, that is all. You are deserving of only the best– you are a treasure, after all. Even Rex Lapis said so once, unprompted, fondly casting a glance at your lively eyes, the warm smiles you’d give them as you made your way over. Genial, he had said, when he’d visited the Inn last and found the two of you taking a stroll in the marsh.

Comforting, Xiao had thought. Strange, then, that your smiles have brought him little solace as of late.

Xiao sighs.

It would be a bit naive, he quietly concedes, to pretend he didn’t know why. He is too old, has seen too much– felt too much– to not know what chord his heart strums now. 

He gives it no name. He does not need to, and he’d rather not besides. After all, it is an ugly little thing, and acknowledgement does nothing to loosen its toils from his mind.

Last week, you’d paid him a visit. Your regular comings and goings have been more sporadic as of late, with Cloud Retainer’s recently roused temper sending flurries of icy rain to soak all the harbour, forcing everyone and everything with good sense indoors. It caused no real harm, but did serve to be a wretched nuisance, and no amount of prayers and offerings had done anything to make even the slightest change to the weather. You’d asked Xiao why, and he’d bitten back a smile. Something about her mountain still being “positively bedaubed in mint,” he’d said, privately relishing the fact that you knew precisely what he spoke of. He’d told you what had happened this Lantern Rite, after all, tiptoeing around this detail and that. You hadn’t asked any questions, but he’d seen your focused expression and known you’d guessed the rest on your own.

You’d laughed and laughed when he’d told you about Mountain Shaper seeding all of Mt. Aocang with mint, he fondly recalls. (So these laughs bring him solace– he sees, although he does not wish to.) Your mirth perhaps spelled trouble for you, though, because you’d gone on to tut and call Cloud Retainer a ‘sensitive granny,’ and Miss Xianyun, standing a mere half dozen steps away, had not been amused.

Why punish us for it, you’d groaned, when the skies had torn open to shower some more over the inn, just as you’d gotten up to leave. Xiao had been unsurprised– that much was plain to see– but if a part of him was really quite pleased, he hid it well, even from himself.

No matter was all he had said, stoic as ever, and had held your hand to bring you home. It took scarcely a breath, but the warmth of your fingers had lingered on the leather of his gloves for several moments after.

(And of course– although contact was admittedly a little unnecessary, holding your hand would surely have made you a little more comfortable with something as foreign as teleportation, yes?) 

The evening breeze brings him out of his thoughts by delivering yet another peal of distant laughter to his ears, and he dissipates it with a sullen wave of his hand. The air goes still for a moment, as though insulted. Then it picks up again, reminding Xiao strongly of a rebuked child pretending to not care. It ruffles the leaves of the giant tree, and plays and fools about the Inn’s loose eaves-and-shingles with breezy little whistles. The very vision of liveliness. 

It prances about him, too, and playfully tousles his hair into his face before darting off to bother someone else. Xiao doesn’t look up. Part of him is grateful to be broken out of his reverie, but part of him finds it to be of little use. He is suddenly hyperaware of his muscles– of the arch of his tired shoulders and the ache in his feet. Something heavy sinks to the bottom of his stomach, and twists up coils tightly round his chest. He imagines what it would be like, to have you laugh at something he’d said, instead of your newest coworker, who is all that is charming and vivacious and mortal. 

He got cake for everyone yesterday, you’d cheerily said last week, bringing a spoonful up to Xiao’s lips. He had felt both thrilled and dismayed. In the end he’d schooled his face into neutrality and commanded himself to feel the same, as you obliviously continued– It was to thank everyone for being so welcoming or something. It’s really good– try it.

It’s alright, Xiao had wanted to tell you. In the end, though, all he could force out of was a nod of half dismissal and half (questionable) agreement. Perhaps it was puerile, but he finds he doesn’t regret it.

Xiao stands and shakes his head, thumping his spear into existence. He ought to clear his mind.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Tomorrow comes, as tomorrow always does.

The passage of time means little to Xiao– the hours run by in mere moments and it is morning before he knows it. One instance the night sky blinks meekly at him. When he shuts his eyes, he feels the stars gaze upon his skin; when he opens them, he meets the sun’s glare and scrunches them shut.

How long did he sleep? There’s a dull ache in his arm from the awkward angle– he’d draped it carelessly over the rocky ground and learnt his lesson for the nth time. He cares not– his body aches always regardless, and another dull throb means nothing. Mere tears to the sea.

Xiao blinks at his palm, at the blood encrusted on his glove, and blinks. He’s angry today, he realises– full of vitriol, the whispers in his mind more poisonous– although the reason dodges him.

(Or perhaps, he dodges it.)

Xiao looks blearily around.

The sun is out today. It is low in the sky– dawn. He frowns, registering his surroundings. No, sunset. You must be setting off for home, chattily bidding your friends goodbye. Or perhaps you’ve already reached.

He starts to strain his ears to see if you laugh today too, but stops. He does not wish to make himself angrier. 

It is unfortunate, then, that the weather is just as he likes it. Tiny clouds bumble through the skies like soft lambs. (He is reminded of Ganyu when she was little, and his temper cools slightly.) Moreover, there is a breeze buffeting eagerly at his back, ruffling his hair with its soft, eager fingers and begging him to spread his wings. He’ll hardly have to flap them, he knows, for them to carry him all over Liyue. He pulls off his muck-encrusted gloves, clenches and unclenches his fingers. It isn’t even humid today– the breeze seems to have lifted all the moisture off. 

He sees a fox lapping at a puddle as he hikes down the hill, having pettily decided to walk. How vexing, for Cloud Retainer to have ruined his week to suddenly find herself pleased with all the world. Perhaps he should find the Traveler and ask for every little mint seed found on their travels to scatter all over her mountain. She is not there nowadays; she would never know until the rains arrive once more and there is suddenly nothing but cool green all around.

He sighs. 

He sighs as he plods along, sighs as the finches cheep eagerly at him, and sighs as he hurls his spear into a lawachurl’s back. He sighs again as he bends down to pick it up, then again when he glances over the expanse the dusk-painted marsh, only to see just how far the inn is.

He reluctantly teleports.

Landing on his balcony soothes him slightly. He shakily exhales when he hears familiar laughter arise from the kitchen, along with the smell of oil and scallions. The breeze also carries a certain fragrance up to his nostrils, and he tips his head to smell it better. Some flower he forgets the name of. Or is it a resin? A new varnish to some piece of furniture? No matter. He’s about to make his way to his room when his ears prick up, and his footsteps come to a halt.

“When… think he’ll return?” 

“You can… to him, he’d never… you.”

“...bad for calling…”

“How foolish!” (Verr’s voice is loud here, and incredulous. The last remnants of Xiao’s ire are fast replaced by curiosity when you retort–)

“Not even! I can’t bother him on his special day.”

“Do you even love him?” Huai’an teases, and Xiao’s anger sharply returns and twists itself into something larger and still more bitter. He walks quietly into his room and tosses his gloves into a corner, vowing to set off again as soon as he's changed into fresh clothes. Something tugs at him even as he fumes– and Xiao is no good at understanding his feelings, but this one he knows. It is a mixture of fear and sadness. A certain sort of anxiety, the herald of impending loss. He suddenly remembers you telling him something once– the difference between jealousy and envy.

It had come about in an uneventful way– you’d cast dirty looks at him all afternoon, once. It had been the sunniest day, and you’d been dappled like a fawn in the leaf-filtered light. Something inside of Xiao had been desperate to enjoy today, to remember it well– and so he’d finally asked what made you so furious. You’d laughed then, frown dissolving into playfulness, and told him you were jealous.

No, sorry, you’d said momentarily, looking thoughtful. He’d pulled the leaves off a strawberry and handed it absently to you. You’d held it up for him, and he’d declined, even as his lips brushed against it. You didn’t seem to notice– if you did, you didn’t seem to care. Somehow it had brought him both a sting of pain and immense relief when you’d tossed it carelessly into your own mouth and winced, then shrugged at the sourness, at the accidental kiss shared. I meant envious.

What is the difference? He’d asked, and sighed. What could possibly be the difference? Mortals and their million distinctions.

You’d smiled at him, knowing why he’d huffed. Jealousy is like, when you don’t want someone taking what’s yours, you’d explained. The way you don’t want me taking your food, so you jealously guard it. Envy is what I feel right now, which is wanting something someone else has. And what I want is your clear skin, because I’m breaking out and it looks kinda bad. 

It looks fine, he’d said, handing you another fruit off the platter. The same occurred then– you held it up for him to eat, he shook his head, and you’d popped it into your mouth. A second kiss. You look the same, he’d insisted. Besides, you can have my food if you like.

I always look ugly?

You never look ugly.

Xiao yanks harshly on his sleeve. He first regrets lacing it with care, because all that happens is that he ends up roughly jostling his arm, then regrets it still more sorely a second time, when he recalls who made it.

What happens, he wonders, when you are afraid of someone taking what you do not have?

He’s hardly begun scolding himself for resenting some poor mortal sod before there is a knock on his door.

It is familiar– so familiar, that the moment he hears it, his shoulders soften and he calls out a gentle “enter!” before he knows it. He curses himself, then– his body responded sooner than his brain, when the embers of his temper still glow. (Not that it matters– they would never flare, not at you.)

Whatever twisted worm seethes in his rotten apple heart, though, stops thrashing as soon as you peek in through the door. You do nothing for a moment– just stare at him with narrowed eyes, and he wonders if you are as angry as he was, before he remembers you cannot see in the dark at all. A slim ray of amusement creeps into his heart, and makes itself known on his lips. You’re probably futilely searching for him still.

He draws his curtains open with a sharp flick of his wrist to let in the rapidly dimming light. You blink rapidly, then smile. So relieved and bright, eyes crinkling sweetly at the edges, that he feels something in his throat and turns away, pretending to fix the perfect laces of his sleeve.

He is determined to be angry, but nothing ever goes his way. And so he is unsurprised when his voice is soft as ever when he asks– “did you need something?”

“Woah,” you say, and he drops his sleeve and looks up, nonplussed. What sort of response is woah?

“Hm?”

Then you snort a little half-laugh, and it is like ice to a bruise. “You’re so cold today. Are you mad about something? Is this a bad time?”

Yes, he thinks, and shakes his head. (Then he remembers something you’d said to him once– you lie often– and puts it out of mind. After all, he tells himself, that is neither here nor there.)

“No,” he says, then reconsiders. “Perhaps. I fell asleep in the marsh for too long, and it did not rain again– and so I did not wake up.”

“Ah,” you say, and the familiar lilt in your voice whispers– how silly. He doesn’t mind– he knows it is an unconvincing lie, but you’re either too civil or too tactful to question it. 

There is a lull in the conversation, then, and he feels something bitter creep onto the edges of his mind once more. This is not the first time he has killed an exchange.

He is about to apologise and turn you away when you start another.

“I bought some nice wines yesterday,” you say, snapping your fingers. He turns around. “That’s why I’m here, actually. Would you like to taste them with me?”

Xiao’s lashes flutter. Yes. No. “When?”

You grin. “Today! But dinner first, I think. I don’t think I should drink on an empty stomach– is it the same for the adepti?”

“A little,” he admits. Then– “When today?”

You tilt your head. “Now today, if you don’t mind. It’s dark out already.” You smile. “Shall we go?”

His heart lurches. He hums, and holds out a bare, clawed hand for you. You stare at it for a long moment before pressing your palm trustingly against his, and he jolts at the warmth– he’d forgotten he’d taken his gloves off. 

His nails brush against your wrist as you pull quickly away. “Sorry,” you blurt, eyebrows furrowing in concern. He feels a flush creep up his neck and is suddenly glad for the dark. “Did I do something?”

“No,” comes his prompt answer, although he cannot tell if he lies now or speaks the truth. “A mere spasm. Shall we go?”

You nod, and cheerily grab onto his hand again. He draws the door shut behind you and locks it. In the next moment, he is with you on your balcony. 

“It’s locked–” you start to say, and he waves his hand. The wind rustles, your door clicks, and Xiao slides it open. He throws you a glance, and you amusedly sigh.

“I had no clue it was that easy for you.”

“It is even easier if I do not care for the state of your carpet.” He nods at his muddy shoes as he slides them off and nudges them into a corner of the balcony with a foot. You carry yours to your perpetually full shoe-rack, eye it critically, then shrug and plop your footwear on the floor.

“You need a bigger rack,” he says. For some reason, you give the most mischievous little snigger, and he tilts his head. “What?”

“Don’t go around telling random women that, now.”

“Pardon?”

“Tsk tsk.”

He huffs, and chuckles despite himself. He cannot help it, not when you look so gleeful. 

“What have I done now?” He asks, with the air of someone that knows they’ve lost.

You laugh in response, and he steps inside, stepping carefully around your carpet. Once he reaches you, you flick his forehead, so gently it is barely a tap.

“Rack can sometimes refer to boobs,” you explain, and his face burns at your nonchalance. He’s unsure of what to say in answer– he simply crosses his arms and attempts a look of disappointment. Whether he succeeds or fails is a mystery– what he does know is that you laugh again, and that something pleasant bubbles in his chest when you do.

“Well,” you finally say, saving him the trouble of responding. “You should put the polearm away and freshen up. I bought some new soap yesteday– it smells really nice. Kind of resin-y.” You hold up your arm for him to smell, then withdraw it, embarrassed. “It’s made of pine amber from Nod Krai.”

“That is a resin,” he murmurs. So that was what he smelled at the Inn before– it is indeed quite pleasant. It is unlike most mortal fragrances; he absently leans a little closer to catch more of the gently lingering scent. As he does so, he notices something– a little red mark on the side of your neck– and brushes his clawed fingers gently against it before he can quite register his actions.

“What is this?” he murmurs.

“Huh?” You clamp a hand over your neck but misjudge the motion, and Xiao’s nails catch against your throat for a moment before he draws them away, alarmed.

“Is there a scratch?” A love-bite?

“No, it’s nothing.” You snort, oblivious. “You didn’t scratch me. Sorry.” You exhale, and your breath brushes his cheek.

And you are suddenly too close– he is too close. Vision or no vision, he never ought to cross the distance between you, this thick yet invisible line– and particularly not in this listless way, inching nearer and nearer as roots to water, as devastation to unsuspecting innocents.

He lowers his lashes and parts his lips, an apology on his tongue–

You speak first. (And, he notices, you do not step away.)

“Anyway, the mark on my neck is from some sort of bug bite.” You wince. “I kept scratching it in my sleep the more it itched and it kind of drew blood– don’t be too mad.”

“Alright,” Xiao says, because he helplessly feels both guilt and anger slip from his fingers like sand the longer he speaks with you, and because he cannot remain angry with you for long regardless, and because he is eager to believe you. 

He’s ashamed of the relief he feels.

He exhales. His heart aches a little as it beats, and he clenches his fist to feel his pulse jump about in his palm. Unclenches it. Blinks at his still-throbbing fingers. You hum to yourself, a refrain from some mortal song he has not heard in full, and suddenly you feel as though you are so far away. 

You sound as though you are very, very near.

Xiao looks up to see you in the kitchen (when did you get there?), lit by a single lamp in the dark as you tip a large pot over a bucket. He wishes to hurry over and do it for you– scalding water is deadly to mortals, isn’t it? – but instead finds himself simply staring at your back as you slide the pot back into its place over the woodstove.

“Go wash up,” you say, cheery and guileless in the face of his bewilderment, and he nods. You do not notice it– do not notice him– and he suddenly feels a pang of the keenest agony. Words race through his throat, to the tip of his tongue– he opens his mouth to tell you, tell you everything, then shuts it. Tell you what? What is there to say? That he is stil possessed by his earlier feelings?

I don’t even know.

But then you speak, and even through the steam from the bucket, the air becomes just a little clearer.

“There’s spare clothes in there already– and a towel, of course.” You turn to him with a smile, and he remembers again that you cannot see him well at all. If you could, you would note his unhappiness– he hopes. 

“I’ve lit the lamps in there as well, don’t worry,” you continue, “and I’ll light the rest while you freshen up. Oh–” you snap your fingers–  “and heat up dinner. I got us food from Liuli Pavilion, so although it was a bit pricey, it's bound to be good.” You grin. 

There is a lull in the conversation, then, because he simply does not know how to respond. It all feels like too much– spare clothes and a towel, and lit lamps that he does not need. Now that he’s singled out the smell of pine resin, it just won’t leave his nostrils. He finds that he likes it, because you smell of it. He decides he dislikes it, because it smothers your scent. In the end he decides he is simply a fool, and turns his back on your mentions of food and fine wine. His chest constricts when he suddenly recalls Huai’an’s teasing–

Do you even love him?

He feels lightheaded, then foolish for feeling so.

In the end, he decides on– “spare clothes?”

“Yes, from last time,” you say, now in the careful fashion of someone attempting to deduce something– someone who will perhaps ask questions later. He pretends not to notice. What use is wanting you to know he’s upset when he runs from your questions anyway?

(You lie often.)

“Are my visits truly that frequent?” He asks instead.

“Not as frequent as I’d like, certainly,” You respond, smiling ruefully, and he wonders if you ever stop. He hopes you do not.

You put the bucket of hot water by his feet then, and pat his shoulder. Then you dart off– presumably to freshen up as well– and he takes the chance to bury his face in his hands and rub it hard.

As he makes his way over to the bathroom, he sees your shoes by the door, and his in the balcony.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The clothes you’d laid out for him are clean and soft and ironed.

Xiao usually does not bother– adeptal commodities do not need the same care as mortal ones. He is used to carelessly scrubbing his garments and tossing them out in the sun to dry– they do not sustain the same damage, nor do they constrict him in any manner, and that is all that matters. Finding a wrinkle or two does not bother him– nearly all that sees him is fated to die by his hand anyhow.

But you’ve taken the care to iron them carefully. Hang them up prettily. He stands in your humid bathroom, nude as a child, and ruefully thinks– he feels like one, too. This is how it must have been, although he cannot (does not) recall his youth.

He reaches for the towel and pats himself dry. He does not need to– anemo is a most useful element– but there is something grounding in the ritual of doing things the manual way– something tender about walking you home instead of teleporting you, of taking the stairs at the inn instead of the lift, of getting to linger a little longer in the cooling shade of your adoring smiles, of your little laughs and mistakes.

He brings the towel to his hair and rubs. Gathers the longer strands in his cloth covered fingers to squeeze the water out of them. The towel feels heavier and limper than before when he hangs it up to tug his clothes on, and once he’s done he turns to the mirror to see someone he knows all too well. 

And yet he looks so… out of place. His downy hair is mussed in the way mortal strands never are. His skin is porcelain, features too perfect. The lamplight catches on his gold eyes.

He looks like no one save for himself. 

Xiao blows out the lamps.

Are my visits truly that frequent?

Not as frequent as I’d like.

He wonders if you lie.

(Do you even love him?)

A throb ghosts its ache-filled lips over the base of his skull, and Xiao weakly wills it away. His shoes are still on your balcony.

He presses his face into his palms, and the scent of pine amber fills his nostrils.

There’s spare clothes in there already– and a towel, of course.

He inhales, then softly exhales, suddenly conscious of his breathing. 

He is in your house, is he not? He thinks back to your enquiring tone, your gentle expression. Scented steam wafts around the bath area still, and Xiao watches it catch the moonlight that just barely creeps in through the tinted window.

You cannot have lied, he hesitantly decides, and something eases in his chest. You cannot have, if you took the time to care for his clothes, making them look as new as when they first came into his possession. When you lit the lamps despite knowing there is no need– when you come to the inn in person whenever you can, despite not having to.

(Perhaps this is all that love is sometimes– a series of unnecessary actions.)

He thinks about his shoes still on the balcony and feels sick to his stomach. He presumes too much.

Xiao steps quietly outside, towel in hand, and pads soundlessly over to where he can hear you. You’re occupied with laying everything out on the coffee table in your living room. When he makes an enquiring hum, you glance back with a smile.

“The dinner table’s a mess right now– I hope you don’t mind us eating here?”

“No,” he affirms, absently surveying the spread. A few expensive dishes to his taste and a few to yours. In the very center you’ve placed the Tianshu meat, and he truly does not know how you’ll finish it all. 

“Can you truly finish all this?” he can’t help but ask, and you whip your head around with an exaggerated frown. And somehow, suddenly, he finds himself biting back an abrupt, tiny smile.

“This is in no way a you situation,” you huff. “This is a we situation. You’re going to finish the things I got for you, alright? Or I’m keeping dessert hostage.”

“Dessert?”

“Your favourite,” you easily supply, taking the towel out of his hands. “What else?” Saying so, you walk over to your balcony to drape the towel over your drying rack.

“I did not think–” he starts to say, then trails off when he notices– his shoes are nowhere to be seen.

“Oh yeah, they don’t have almond tofu,” you say. He barely hears. Where are his shoes?

He turns sharply to the door.

There, wiped clean and nestled against yours–

“–so I made it myself,” you finish, sliding the door shut behind you. The sound of rattling glass panes shakes him out of his reverie, and his lashes flutter rapidly as he looks towards you.

“You did?”

“I did,” you say, looking really quite pleased with yourself. (It is adorable, he thinks, then erases the thought. It’s useless, however– he simply ends up thinking it a second time.) 

“I actually…” you sigh, and plop heavily onto the couch. “I tried making the cake too, but I think I’ll have to stick to unbaked cheesecakes. It’s alright, though.” You shrug. “The baker did a much better job than I could have. And oh!” You exclaim, eyes widening a little, and he hopes he does not look as soft as he feels.

“Yes?” he prompts, and blushes at his own voice. He hopes you do not notice in the lamplight.

“Miss Xianyun offered to bake you a cake, too.” You smile warmly at the thought, and unbeknownst to him, he smiles a little too. “I had no clue she knew you, though! How odd. She offered when we both got caught in the rain when I was on my way to the bakery. It stopped raining soon after, so I was able to go ahead and place my order.”

“I see,” he says. How odd indeed, for her to show you such sudden kindness. But ah, it is likely an apology for having caused trouble for you before. He knows you must have your suspicions, but is glad when you don’t probe further. 

“Oh, and–” you instead say– “my new coworker– do you remember him? The guy who got everyone cake a couple weeks back. He offered to come along to pick a gift, but I said no. I wanted to pick something myself.”

Xiao wonders when he’d begun smiling, because his lips are suddenly keen on settling themselves into a flat line. He forces them to stay as they are and hopes it does not look too maniacal. “I see,” he mutters, and congratulates himself on not sounding too curt. “For whom?”

There is a long pause, and you blink at him slowly, in the stupidest, sweetest way. He blinks stupidly back into the still air, and an owl screeches outside in the distance somewhere.

You make a sound in the back of your throat then, eyes widening in the loveliest manner. You look so sincerely astonished that he flushes in confusion. Clearly this is a most catastrophic social blunder. There is an obvious answer that he does not yet know.

Is it your birthday? Was this a treat to yourself? For a wretched moment, he racks his mind for an answer, but blanks horrifically.

He is about to resign himself to embarrassment when you laugh, so bright and soft and warm, and say–

“For you, of course!” And it is now Xiao’s turn to be baffled. You giggle helplessly at his expression as you continue. “Huai’an was right, you really– you seriously forgot? Xiao, it’s your birthday tomorrow.” You shake your head, still smiling, eyes aglow with mirth. “Happy birthday eve! Or something like that.”

Not even! rings in his head, louder and louder. I can’t bother him on his special day.

Do you even love him?

Xiao’s face burns.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Dinner is a cheery affair. 

After being the fortunate victim of your endless laughter and affectionate teasing, he finds himself seated beside you on your couch. You’re seated knee to knee at first, thighs brushing as you laugh, as you lean over to pile more food onto his plate and as he does the same for you. You seem to eventually get a bit tired of continually glancing to the side, though, and soon you’re shin to shin, facing one another as you eat with the dishes in hand. This way, when you cover your mouth adorably with your fingers and erupt into laughter, he sees your pretty eyes up close as they crinkle at the ends and sparkle with amusement.

When you pretend to make a grab at his food, he simply puts it on your plate. You protest– of course you do– and he finally agrees to take half. The conversation soon resumes its usual chatter, and Xiao is first amused when he sees you prop the couch cushions behind yourself for more comfort, then flustered when you lean over him to do the same for him.

And as frivolous as mortal conversations may get, he cannot chide them– cannot chide you. In the wake of his realisation, there is renewed hope within him that presents itself as curiosity– he asks a dozen little questions about the things you tell him, prods at length about your thoughts on Xianyun (he hopes he is subtle, and suspects he is not) and smiles when you click your tongue as you recall Xingqiu’s newest prank.

“At least he switched up his targets.” You sigh, but there is affection in your voice and your lips curve into the prettiest smile. His heart hurts. “It was Xiangling this time.”

He hums in response, and you continue.

“Although I think he’ll regret that soon enough. I heard she doesn’t want to cook for him for a while. Poor Xingqiu.”

“Shenhe would deem him richly deserving,” Xiao murmurs, and feels his ears turn warm as you laugh.

“She does! She looked so smug when she told me!” You snicker. “She also wanted to wish you an early happy birthday, by the way. And Xiangling wants to know if you mind a little vanilla in your almond tofu.”

“I do,” he answers truthfully. “Almond tofu ought to taste like itself.”

You snort. “I'd say you remind me of a coffee purist, but vanilla can get pretty overpowering at times. Did you know I drank a spoonful once?”

He grimaces, and you laugh again, and although it is dewy moonlight that creeps in through the tall windows to settle on your skin– so subtle in the lamplight that no mortal would ever see– it feels as though through you, it is the sun that has come out. He watches through his lashes– some things cannot be stared straight at, after all.

You soon bring out the liquor. 

“This one’s just rice wine,” you say, holding up a bottle. “This–” you say, pulling another out of the cabinet, “is dandelion wine– this is what I bought the other day. And here’s some mead– made from zaytun peaches, I think? It was a gift, so I can’t remember where it was purchased,” you muse. “I also have sparkling wine and… uh, some bard gave me this extra sparkling wine, whatever that means. So I don’t really trust it.”

Xiao tilts his head enquiringly. “Some bard?” He echoes.

You nod innocently. “Yes, from Mondstadt. We met at the wineshop– he saw me looking around and told me this is the best, strongest wine Mondstadt has to offer. The staff escorted him out though.” You snort. “I wonder where he is now. Prison, do you think? For just a little while? Since I doubt he’s licensed.”

“Unlikely,” Xiao says, before he can stop himself. When you blink at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity, he sighs. “I may know this bard,” Xiao admits. “He is a little eccentric at times, but ultimately harmless… although his wines may be entirely too strong for your tastes.”

You look up, startled. “Truly?”

He hums. You regard the bottles before you, and he wonders what you are thinking, in the slow, easy way he always does with you. He knows there is no rush– your thoughts will be laid before him soon enough. You’re not in the habit of making him guess, after all.

“Well,” you muse. “In that case– do you want to give his wine a try?”

Xiao hesitates. Barbatos’ wines are potent– dangerously so. Were he to become intoxicated and lose himself… his stomach roils at the thought. He ought to decline.

A glance at you, however, weakens his resolve ever so slightly. The merest splinter. He realises then that declining a drink would mean explaining why– and piqueing your curiosity in a way that pertains to the incognito archon of Mondstadt of all people would be… undesirable at the very least. His resolve begins to crumble.

Perhaps a cup, then. Surely it cannot be enough to intoxicate him so soon– what could, after all? – and particularly not on a full stomach. Besides, Barbatos would not have given you the wine intending for you to drink it– he is well acquainted with mortals and is familiar with their caution. This is, in all likelihood, a present meant for him. And would it not be rude to decline a favour from an archon? 

His resolve dissolves like a block of salt in water.

A cup won’t hurt, he reluctantly decides, and nods.

Mere minutes and just some sips later, Xiao feels himself beginning to sway.

It hits him all at once. Apparently, it can hurt. He has no time to panic, though– one moment he thinks only of how the wine smells a little unusual, and burns his throat with an unexpected ferocity– in the next, his vision narrows, and the inside of the glass is all he sees. The lamplight arcs into it, then through the transparent, wispy wine. The light dashes along the rim and flings itself into his eyes. His lashes are all aflutter, and one falls off. It is suspended in the air one moment– a single dark line against a sparkling background– and suddenly it is inside the glass.

It is overwhelming. 

“I do not want it now,” he says automatically, and sets it down harder than he meant to. When he attempts to recline, his neck slams into the backrest sooner than he expects with a thump. 

You sit up in alarm. He watches through slow, thick blinks as you hurriedly set your glass of harmless zaytun mead aside.

“Xiao?” Your fingers grasp at his shoulder and he shoves them off, feeling too much and too little. The whispers that had lain subdued all evening come awake, and he clutches his head with a soft groan, attempting to muffle the cacophony within. 

“Xiao!” Your eyes widen, and suddenly your palms are on his cheek. One cradles his jaw and brings his head up to rest against your chest– the other brushes his bangs out of his face. He sighs– somehow it is a relief to have you so close. He feels as though he's a little bird that has flown for hours in the heat, and finally found a pond full of the coolest water.

You do not seem to feel the same. “Fuck,” you hiss, and he hears your voice in your throat, your chest. He catches a hint of your heartbeat then, and snuggles curiously closer. There it is. Steady as a drum. Fast as one too. He doesn’t think it normal, then remembers drums can be played slow too, and hums to himself. You’ll be fine, like a drum. Flawless logic. He’s a general, after all. He’s supposed to be clever. Strong too, and skilled. And he… he yawns, and slips lower. 

His head flops onto your lap and you cry out again in alarm. Belatedly, he realises you keep telling him to let go. Let go of what? He’s grasping your shirt with one hand and has an arm around your waist. Which is he supposed to let go of?

“Be specific,” he grumbles. 

“Huh?!” 

He sighs. “Mortals… it is neither here nor here.”

“You–!”

And he’s strong too, he thinks, because he doesn’t like when you are afraid, and right now you sound truly worried. He hates it. Being strong means he can quell your anxiety, yes? Eliminate all that hurts you. He shuts his eyes and presses his nose into your thigh. When he inhales, a pleasant smell fills his nostrils– pine sap, or whatever. He huffs. He’s strong. He’s not good for much else, and he is a receptacle for all that is wrong with this world, but he’s– he’s the one with the Primordial Jade Winged Spear, bequeathed to him by the Geo Archon himself. He is Morax’s general, the Vigilant Yaksha. And sure, he’s not as good as Cake Man. He scoffs derisively.

But he’s– he’s. Surely. No, perhaps– perhaps there is something to him that Cake Man lacks. Yes, he remembers, a little smug now. Yes, there is. He can hear all that happens in Liyue. If you need him, you can always call for him, yes?

He realises you’ve stopped moving, stopped talking. It’s late at night, which is when mortals sleep. Good. You’re resting with a hand on his back and the other in his hair. He hates to confess– but that is also good.

There are several seconds of hushedness, then. He hears raucous laughter in the distance. Perhaps a neighbour’s party, or someone all the way across Liyue. The owls grow shriller outside, and he knows a parent has brought the owlets a meal. His fingers twitch. He finds he cannot move them as finely as he ought. 

Into the silence, he whispers– “I may be drunk.” He’s confused, then, because that felt like a thought.

He starts again, louder. “I think–”

“Why does my coworker bother you?” You quietly ask. 

Xiao stiffens. Stupidly, he wonders– when did you wake up? Did you read his mind?

“I…” he starts. He cannot think of a lie fast enough, but a million questions occur to him, chief among them being how did you know? And who told you? And weren’t you asleep? Don’t mortals sleep at night?

Soon after, he wonders– did he spew all his thoughts aloud?

Xiao suspects the answer is yes. He swallows, and tries for a lie anyway. His mind grasps desperately for anything within reach, but it is as drunk as its keeper and just as clumsy. And so all he ends up saying is–

“I lie often.” 

I, he thinks, as soon as the words leave him, have scarce sounded more foolish before.

You laugh then, and he smiles, and you continue to laugh, even though it is a wobbly sort of laugh. An almond tofu of a laugh. As though it could turn to mush with one squish. And just as sweet. Perhaps sweeter. Surely sweeter.

He realises then that the voices in his head have fallen silent.

“I know,” you whisper. Your fingers tremble slightly as they comb through his hair, nails dragging gently against his scalp. He purrs, in the way some birds do, with a soft chirp at the start and at last a little click.

“I…” you start, then sniffle. He wonders if you’re crying, but cannot find the strength to glance up. “I want to ask you so many questions,” you whisper, in that still-shaking voice. Your chest brushes against his hair as you lean lower, and he exhales softly. 

“But you’re drunk,” you say gently, stroking his cheek with a thumb. “You’re buzzed out of your mind.”

“Then now is a good time,” he answers, deciding to be truthful. His heart soars. It just feels so much nicer, to simply be laid bare before you. “Now is when I will be honest. It will be diffi– difficult later.”

“I know,” you murmur, and with some difficulty, he finally manages to look at you. Your eyes are huge, and gold, like his.

No, he realises. Those eyes are mine.

“But,” you murmur, so close to him he can see iridescence on your every eyelash, smell the zaytun mead on your lips. “When you’ll be honest later, you’ll have chosen it.” You press a kiss to your fingertips, and bring them to his forehead. His eyes sting.

“Let’s head to bed for now,” you say, gentler than gentle. In this moment, you are the very vision of softness, of all that is right in this world. He feels terribly selfish, for bringing his wrongs to you, even though your kindness cannot undo the cruelty he inflicted upon others, the cruelty inflicted upon him in the annals of a nearly forgotten time.

You do not know what you are doing, he wants to whisper. You seem to see the desperate warning in his eyes; gently, firmly, you shake your head.

“Drink some water first,” you softly say. Your hands are warm against his cheeks. “We’ll talk tomorrow, alright? Only if you’d like.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

When Xiao awakens, it is with your hair in his mouth.

There is a steady ache at the base of his skull. It throbs in beat with his pulse. This is not new; this he barely notices.

What he does notice with the force of a thousand suns however, is that it is early morning and he is in a bed that smells entirely of you– overwhelmingly so. Your scent permeates deep into every fiber of every fabric– the duvet that covers him, the pillow beneath his head.

Your clothes.

And mine, he realises. His racing heart soon outstrips the throb in his head– all else seems to fade in his perception. His senses register only you.

There’s your hair in his mouth, your head directly on his chest. He swallows and hopes you don’t wake up to the beat of his heart against his ribs– not when your legs are wrapped around one of his, and when you have an arm draped comfortably over him. He cannot see it– it is hidden by his duvet– but it is solid against his belly and your fingers nestle by his side. A couple have crept under him. They are warm– as warm as him. You are the same, balmy temperature, twined into one being beneath the blankets. 

Worse still– when he attempts to shift away, he realises just where his hands are. One of them is beside his torso, warm and comfortable beneath a mess of pillows and old clothes you forgot to toss into the laundry. The other– the other is wrapped firmly round your waist, keeping you snug against him. You’re warm against him– overwarm– and he threatens to grow still warmer with the unyielding flush that smears carelessly across his features.

He shifts a foot up and tries to move the other to no avail. Your thighs resist– they lock tightly around one of his, and his face now feels as though it is truly alight when you hum in annoyance, breath huffing over his neck and collarbones. Your knees tighten round his leg warningly. Even in your sleep you are as firm as a bull, and he gives a shaky exhale along with a prayer to his lord, to extricate him from this position.

Although… he confesses, if only to himself, that he is extremely comfortable. Your steady breaths and warmth… the soft pillows that cradle him carefully. His lashes flutter. His wakefulness is fading softly alongside his surprise– sleep is beginning to tighten round him the way you have. 

He brushes your hair aside with his free hand, and falls asleep.

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

When he awakens a second time, it is with his hair in your mouth.

He wonders if it is an incorrigible habit of yours, to creep towards the nearest source of warmth. When he blinks, his long lashes brush your neck. You're braced against him, sprawled on your belly, arms spread wide on either side. One tugs him absently closer and for a moment, his mouth lies flush to your collarbones.

He is forcibly reminded of a cormorant seated spread on a rock, damp wings facing the sun. You look a bit like it right now, he decides– eager for warmth, arms wide enough to embrace all the world.

He's unsure of what to think when he realises that includes him, too.

Your breaths tickle his scalp. Your legs are entangled in his, still, and he grimaces when he realises he fell asleep all over in spite of you being so close. He wriggles away, then, ignoring the crack that widens slowly in his chest. Tugs your arm off of him and slips away, then gently shoves your legs off with his hands. 

When he pulls the duvet off himself, though, you sense the sudden movement in your sleep and tug it immediately back up, wrapping an arm tight round his waist. His breath catches in his throat.

He tugs at your elbow. You refuse to let go, and he buries his face in his hands. He can feel his pulse in his head, in the tips of his fingers. If all this were to amount to nothing– as selfish as it would be, he might have to keep his distance from you for a while. 

He is not kind, however– not buoyant like you, not firm enough to brace himself sternly against the tides of his nature. Murmurs mount in his mind again, begging him to lend his mouth to them, his throat. His hands. 

He clenches his fist– these feelings are too much. An old excuse comes along to shield him, then– you'll hurt them if you stay.

The wind cards your curtains aside, and your vision gleams in the morning light.

His breaths still. 

How– how is this little thing meant to protect you? He exhales. Inhales. Exhales again. Your shield, he can't help but think, is softer and feebler than the freshest of leaves.

He's suddenly reminded of Wangshu Inn. Then, as he traces your soft cheek with a single, clawed finger, he remembers– he didn’t even get to try any dessert last night.

And it's because– because. He pauses, then runs his fingers through his hair. His nails dig into his scalp. That wine.

Curse that trickster. Very clever of Barbatos, to give him something that hits all at once. Xiao would never ordinarily drink enough to be even a little tipsy– he must have expected this, wily fiend.

What did he say? What did he reveal? Xiao racks his mind, but most of his recollections are of your soft lap and the too-bright light glinting gaudily off of his glass and– and. He feels his blood turn to ice.

Something about him lying, always. And– he grimaces. Morax. Did he tell you he felt–? 

Envious, he tells himself.

You lie often.

You rouse beside him, and he recoils like a flame from water.

Your fingers twitch first– you shuffle a bit beside him and open your bleary eyes. Blink them slowly at his waist. Xiao observes your clumsy motions, your puffy face. He wonders if it is as puffy every day.

Let’s head to bed for now.

We’ll talk tomorrow, alright? Only if you’d like.

He hopes you've forgotten.

“Good morning,” you mumble. Your breath is warm against his hip. “Awake already?”

“It is well into the morning,” he answers quietly. As though you won't remember if he speaks softly and makes no sudden movements. “Around ten.”

“Oh.” You yawn. There's silence as you play a bit with the fabric of his shirt, then–

“Are you hungover?”

“Hm? No.”

“Oh,” you say again, and draw yourself up to sit on your knees. You're just a bit taller than him like this. Seated this way, with the light streaming in from behind, you look more divine than he is. 

You tower over him, a bit. He feels himself quail ever so slightly.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he murmurs. Suddenly, he does not wish to meet your eyes. “And I apologize for the inconvenience. It should never have been your responsibility; I will take my leave now.”

“No! I mean–” You blink, and put the hand you'd brought to his shoulder back down. “Won't you stay for breakfast?”

Xiao's answer is far more curt than he wished for it to be. “I do not need sustenance.”

In the silence that follows, Xiao finds amazement in how well your sheets are made. The careful embroidery and the sturdy cotton– linen? he cannot tell– is superb in a way that would have pleased his brother, were he here. 

(He wonders if his siblings would have liked you. The thought is quick to vanish– they are not here, and you will be gone before long, and so ruminating on either is foolish when he knows he ought to think instead of the monsters that must crawl all over Mt. Xuanlian at this very moment– although then again, Mt. Aocang is close by.

Perhaps Chiwang Terrace– unless Lingyuan has taken care of it already.

As distress rises inside of him, clinging desperately to his sternum, he inhales and exhales and shushes it. There will be something to do– there is always something to be done.)

He is thinking of what, precisely, when you speak.

“That's fine,” you say, and his lashes lower further when he notes that your voice has lost its usual inflection. It is flatter, controlled. “That's alright. I need to eat though,” you chirp, and his chest aches at the faux cheer, the performance you put forth. Do you always do this? Put on a smile and coax all those around you into something right? He is ashamed to realise he does not know. After all, in every moment of your sadness to which he has borne witness, you have been honest with him. There was no guesswork, no complicated etiquette– he has held you close, and you have cried.

You jump out of bed. “I'll freshen up. You do so, too. And then could you check what fruit I have in the pantry? Or–” you snap your fingers– “we could have last night's leftovers. And dessert!” 

Xiao blinks up at you, nonplussed, as you smile. Privately, he wonders why a smile is always deemed an expression of joy. As it rests on your lips now, it bleeds only rue. 

“I–” he begins, then stops when he sees your fingers twitch. He nods. “Very well. But I will leave soon after.”

Your eyes widen for the briefest of moments, and then you are all sad smiles once more. “Sure.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ✦—————————————✦໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Xiao does not know how the minutes pass, but he soon hears your door creak open. Your kitchen window is open, and so Xiao absently predicts what happens next– the way your home is ventilated lets the wind rustle into the hallway and slam your door shut behind you. It gives a soft, dismayed roar, and the house stills once more.

He hears you click your tongue. Some moments pass before you emerge, and he shuffles aside to let you lean against your counter and reach over for whatever it is that you’d like. You brace yourself against it, fingers gripping the granite. As you survey your kitchen, Xiao surveys you.

You freshened up rather quickly today. He can see a damp spot of perfume on your shoulder from your unusually clumsy fingers, and the strands of hair that frame your face are a little damp still. You do not look as composed as before. It is a bit ironic– you’ve had more time to steel yourself, and yet.

“I’m not really hungry right now,” you say, after a pause. “Last night’s dinner was pretty heavy.”

“Mhm.”

A beat again. Then–

“Did you enjoy it?” You ask.

“The dinner?” he returns, and stiffens when your lashes lower. The question has left you with an opening to direct the conversation elsewhere, into territories that worry him more than they should.

It ought to matter little to Xiao– in fact, a mortal's lost company ought not matter at all. But he has softened more than he'd realised– something gentle has worn away at his hardness, and he feels a little ashamed, and then a bit defiant, for wanting something tender to lean against, for once.

His heart speeds in his chest, purrs against his ribs like a cat attempting to soothe itself. It is not your fault that Xiao is quick to cling– quick to latch onto any softness offered, naively press his palms to warmth and let it creep up his arms to his chest. He has done it before– many times, in truth.

And, he reassures himself, those losses shall prove to be far heftier in time. 

Something quiet and reasonable asks– what is there to lose today? It is squashed by his fear that says– something, something. Something.

He watches through unwittingly narrowed eyes as you part your lips, then lick them. You do not meet his gaze. Yours strays lower instead, to his waist. 

My hands, he registers, when you sidle closer to take one of them into both yours, your callouses brushing against his. You squeeze. Gentle at first, then tighter.

“If you teleport away,” you whisper, “I'll scream. Really loud, okay?”

He's not sure what to do with that. When he tells you this, you meet his eyes and smile, and his heart slows ever so slightly, more drum than cat. 

Yours, he remembers, had sounded a little like that too.

“Last night,” you say, looking earnestly at his face, “you said some things. You don't have to tell me about them again if you want, but if you would, it would– it would be nice.”

“Nice?” Xiao echoes. You nod.

“You said something about hating my coworker. And you mumbled a bit when I took you to my bedroom.” His face ears turn pink, but you plow on. 

“And– and. I'm starting to realise I'll have to do this myself.” Your lips part round a nervous little laugh, and your breath fans against his cheek. Your eyes glimmer in a way that suggests they wish to sorely turn away– to look anywhere but at him– and for the first time, Xiao feels a sense of camaraderie with you. “And… it should be fine as long as you don't run off. We'll be fine. Yes? Yes.” You let out a shaky exhale. 

His voice splinters when he starts to speak, burdened by the hope it bears. It would embarrass him, but only if anything could draw attention away from your anxious, eager expression. Your eyes crinkle in worry but a small smile plays shyly on your lips, and Xiao suddenly wishes words did not exist, so he could simply kiss you and be done with it.

“What?” He breathes, and you huff and dig your nails into his gloves, fingers trembling. 

Something seems to thrum inside of him and inside you, and resonate impatiently into the room. The kitchen seems a little brighter when you shake your head and steel yourself.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “At least I'll be the first to go. I'm going to tell everyone you're a coward, mind you.”

“You won't,” he replies. “You don’t.” You never do, and you never leave him hanging, or make him guess, and he frees his fingers then to wrap his hands round yours instead. 

His heart soars. This is assurance– this is a guarantee. And if you intend to bear him, to let him be your ruin–

Xiao does not know whether to first apologise or confess. It matters not, though, because you resolve even this trouble.

“Yes,” you say, and he swears he feels his chest giddily expand like a balloon. When a gust of wind billows round him, he lets his buoyant heart be pushed closer to yours. When your smile turns bolder, warmer, he knows he's lost whatever game he didn't know he was playing. And– it's alright if you win always, so long as he gets to see your smiles. 

“Yes,” you say, and he brings his fingers up to your cheek, because you are real, and you are here. His breath hitches. “Because I love you. And I said it first.”

There is no stopping his smiles now. He huffs a laugh, first relieved, then joyous (perhaps a bit triumphant, too) and stops suddenly, when he sees you've drawn even closer. His palm fits snugly against your cheek as his claws settle in your hair.

Would that he could halt this moment, to look at you carefully. Engrave this instant into his lungs so he can feel it with every breath. For the first time in a long time, things have gone his way without the slightest price to pay– without even the slightest fear of all going to ruin. Things are just easier with you, he realises. 

Time is her own master, though, and does not deign to even slow for him (and he is half amused and half irked by the fact that he can find something to rue even now). Perhaps, he muses, this is the small price she demands in exchange for the years of comfort to come. She makes no compromises– she is difficult that way– and disagreeable often.

What is most agreeable, though, is the first brush of your lips against his.

"Is this okay?" You whisper, right against his mouth. And oh, now time slows, somewhere deep in your eyes. It is no wonder that it stops for you and not him– you are so lovely that the morning sun itself seems to bend its rays as it casts them, so they twist and squirm to engulf you. You are so bright, and so warm against his hand, and your body is flush against his. 

"Yes," he breathes. There was nothing else to say. And because he is impatient, and a little afraid of waking up– and because, he reasons, you have asked him in the past to let himself be selfish– he kisses you.

(And if he smiles when he does so, you do not point it out. When his eyes are slow to open once it is over– once you have drawn away from his insistent lips and turned warm at the brushes of his fingers against your hips– a look at him is all it takes to reassure you. He is going to stay.)

hello hello!! thank you to everyone who read this + has reached this far!! here is a smooch for your troubles (˵˘ ³˘˵) <33 !!

happy xiao day everyone!!

“It does, but I have another one. Why am I summer August?”

Xiao’s nose scrunched–a rather adorable sight, if you were asked. “You’re warm. If the color yellow or orange became a person, it would’ve been you. Bright. Radiant,” the concentration on his face mirrored the ones he wore when working. You wish he’d relax a little bit on your rare day off’s–the sun is out, children are laughing around, and there’s a nearby shaved ice stand; everything is beautiful in this moment but you can’t find it in yourself to reprimand Xiao’s stoicism.

There’s warmth pooling in his eyes, one you only witness when you’re in his presence.

It makes your heart skip a beat until it comes tumbling down the hill of unrealistic thoughts over the hopeless desire that maybe one day, he’ll like you back.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Smirking, you wiggle your eyebrows and tease him. “Like what?”

“I don’t know! You look weird, like... like–”

“Like I want to absolutely kiss you right now?” Because you did. His cute little hat sits on top of his head so endearingly that you so badly want to take a picture. You want to stare at him a little longer, admire the redness spreading from his nose to his cheeks, watch the way his lower lip curls into his mouth each time he gets flustered, and burn the image of him at the back of your brain.

Xiao, your best friend since the first August of university, and the man you’ve always foolishly pined for despite his constant rejection.

Still, you trail around him like a lost puppy, ignoring his confused yet shy stares each time you announced your presence, and basically decided that you were now going to be his friend, which is the best decision of your life. Xiao isn’t someone you needed to get out of his shell; you had to learn how to enjoy the silence of his life, and respect it.

It’s entirely contradictory to your summer August bumbling self. You’re clumsy where he is always ready to catch you. He’s firm when you are swaying side to side after enjoying too many mimosas from the beach bar. He’s quiet and forever gentle in tucking you under the covers before pressing a kiss to your forehead, and you think of how his lips are summer August hot when it comes to contact with your skin. You think about the young man who sees himself as deep winter, clad in the knitted sweaters you had given him as a gift walk through your door, and hesitantly looks around as if he hasn’t been here a hundred times before.

Where he is deep winter and stiff as a rock when you dance with him under the Christmas lights, you’re the bonfire easing him to relax his muscles, and just enjoy the beat. “We look silly dancing,” he says, then follows up on how he doesn’t like being less of what he deems proper.

But he dances. He twirls you and smiles whilst you laugh, cuts the cheese and swirls the wine in the glass while you drunkenly send him flying kisses – you’re as passionate as he is emotionally numb, and he is the muted version of all your raging emotions.

Whereas you are the definite yes, he is the hesitant no.

“Xiao.”

“If you’re going to tell me you love me again, thank you. I love you too, but you’ve been babbling it non-stop for the entire night. I think I get your point.”

“Do you?” you giggle, mouth hid behind your hand before you grow more serious, head tilted to the side. “Do you truly? If I said I love you right now, and I’ve always been in love with you, are you still going to reject me?”

Xiao’s frown deepens even more. “There’s nothing to be loved about me.” “There’s plenty.”

“Maybe that’s just you,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “The familiarity of having me around might be confusing you. We’re best friends, but that’s all there is. I don’t really see any logical reason for you to develop such deep, sincere feelings for me when I’m not even an ideal lover, so if I were to reject you, it’s not because I don’t want you. A relationship with me would just ruin our friendship, and...”

“Complicate things?”

“Complicate things, yeah.”

“But would you let me love you?”

He doesn’t respond right away. He mulls over it–you can tell by the slight pinch of his brow, the way his back droops down as he stares at the ground as if to ask himself if he’s even worthy of the affection you badly wanted to give him. The only problem is he doesn’t see this. Not just with you, but with everyone else. Xiao is deep winter; reclusive, cold, unaffectionate. It’s impossible for him to see himself the way you do.

“I think you’re drunk, so I don’t take you seriously,” is his response after several beats, hooking his arms under your armpits to guide you back into your room. “Sleep it out. Then we’ll talk.”

You never have that talk. The unspoken words hang like the mistletoe in the air which Xiao deliberately ignores. Head hung low, lips pursed and pale as if locks held back the truth he wished to convey and begged to set free. But Xiao was the living epitome of self restraint–he quietly slithers next to you in bed instead when he thinks you’re asleep, unaware that you’ve steadied your breathing through the drunken haze–and says nothing else.

No I love you’s like you wish to hear.

But there goes his face slowly moving next to yours, his lips pressed at the top of your hair as his gentle hands reach for the blanket to cover your chest. Arms snaking through your waist to hold you close when close is not close enough, and the space does nothing but grow wider the harder your heart yearns, you begin to close your eyes.

This moment will not last. Moments are called such for they are fleeting and experienced shortly, yet lives on forever in faulty memories that eventually fades away. So you clutch it and engrave it to your bone–the shape of his body next to yours, the foolish hopes tying you to a future where it couldn’t exist–and desperately hope that you get to keep at least this minute where you feel his heart caged with yours.

And when his side of the bed (your bed, truthfully, but he’ll always have a place next to you) grows cold in the middle of the night, and his shoes disappears besides yours on the porch, the true winter begins and August ebbs away.

The ice melts.

Not a peep could be heard in the deep winter. There’s nothing but warmth emanating from the remnants of his vulnerability, which for once, you liked to believe he also feels the same way even when he’s not yours.

You believe people will always have that love which never comes for them no matter how hard you chase for it. You could go to the ends of the earth, bang on someone’s door, go down on your knees and make promises of the happiness you can ensure, but all is useless when the house is empty. There is nobody to open the door. No one to welcome you when you walk through the space, or arms to fall into after a long day. The lavatory would be too spacious for a single person when it could fit two pairs of hips standing next to each other as you brush your teeth together.

But there is Thoma, and the house has never been more brightly lit than you’ve ever seen it. It doesn’t have to be Christmas deep in winter when fairy lights are strewn everywhere, giving a magical aura to an even more stunning home decorated by framed photographs of you and him on walls like you were his proudest memory. And you are.

From the moment you’ve met Thoma, it’s been summer all year throughout. His kisses are heated as they are honey-like. The words he spoke are like poetry blotted in brown paper with the promise of a lip stain on a napkin corner. He is perfect and real, and loves you more than you could ever imagine yourself to be loved, and you are getting married.

Wedding preparations, amidst its chaos and stress inducing events, felt fulfilling. You and Thoma would be occupied day and night planning things to perfection, followed by a kiss on the cheek to reassure you nothing had to be extravagant if you wouldn’t prefer it. You’re already perfect, your fiancé would whisper between exchanged breaths, there’s nothing you need to worry about. But his efforts leave the opposite effect when your fingers land on a certain invitation printed with a name that has been echoing in your head for years.

Cruel as it may be, you begin to wonder if you’ve fully mourned the loss of someone who has never been yours.

“Wow. You’re getting married.”

“Yeah, I am.

Before you, your best friend, Xiao sits. He’s clad in a suit, all firm lines smoothed into perfection with every move of his muscle as he leant back in his seat.

You couldn’t fathom the emotions flittering through his handsome face. A pinch of the brow, his lower lip jutting out, index finger anxiously tapping at the table as if to call your attention to the empty finger just a space beside it. And truly, you’re as cruel as you can be, hiding your uncontrollable smile by ducking your chin at the thought he’s been unmarried this entire time.

“I… I didn’t know you were dating, but congratulations. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” you respond almost robotically, since everyone seems to repeat the same phrase over and over again until it got tiring. “I would really love if you were our best man. Thoma’s best friend, Ayato, was the original best man but I requested if it could be you instead since the maid of honors are already Thoma and Ayato’s friends. It would’ve been nice if I could have you there.”

Xiao offers a tight lipped smile. The years that have passed start to show in his face, yet his beauty only sinks deeper within his bones. Shoulders broad enough with the strength to carry the entire world from it, lips thin and perhaps just as soft as you envision if you’ve only ever kissed it – seeing him again after how long felt surreal. Unfathomable. So much has changed, yet you still stayed the same. Fighting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl whenever your crush was in your presence, and him being completely oblivious to your affection.

The only difference now is that you’re to be wed, and for the first time ever, Xiao looks mildly displeased at something you say. “Sure, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Your gut tells you he doesn’t mean it. Thoma’s face disappears for a moment at the back of your mind, and your belly churns as you lean forward. You shouldn’t be prying into other people’s lives when you’re about to spend your entire one with another. It’s common sense, yet you’ve not always been the brightest when you smile up at him fondly again, heart aching beneath your clothes it became difficult to breathe.

All because your silly heart still longs for the one person you can’t have.

“So how have you been?” is nothing but a silly excuse of tell me everything I missed. Let’s condense the years into this few minutes the universe allows us before the time stops ticking and we need to part our separate ways again. Tell me, from the slightest detail of your most mundane day, and I’ll listen.

“The same as always. I’m doing just fine.”

“Are you happy?”

“I’m content.”

“Those two things are different.”

Xiao shakes his head in amusement; you still haven’t gotten rid of that stubborn head sititng between your shoulders. “Not much has changed about me or my life, Y/N. There’s nothing exciting to tell,” one of his shoulders lift in a shrug before he gestures to you, “You’re getting married, though, and I didn’t hear or see this coming at all. It sounds like you have more stories to tell than I do.”

“I’ve always tried telling you about Thoma, you were just… busy. All the time.”

You were never there, but Thoma was. Resentment and hurt leaves a bitter taste in your tongue that Thoma’s sugary lips could barely coat them between kisses.

“We’re grown adults. We both have jobs. You understand my line of work is demanding and I can’t give you dating advice whenever you need it. Not to mention, I’m not the best to approach for those kinds of things considering my lack of experience.”

“I wasn’t going to ask for that, I just wanted to talk to my best friend.”

Xiao takes a moment to study your face. Pursing his lips, he gives you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I should’ve made more time for you.”

Silence hangs in the air. So much time has been wasted–you’ve graduated university, established your own careers, and have had your fair share of meeting and leaving people who come into your life. Xiao, on the other hand, simply drifted off into thin air. Hanging out at the beach no longer seemed like a possible occurrence when it’s been tradition, and you eventually had to get used to being left on delivered. There’s a magnanimous amount of gaps left in between these spaces, and you want to be greedy. You want him to be in every page you’ve written, every ending you’ve created, if only he was there. But he wasn’t. Thoma was, and he’s colored your canvas in colors you haven’t seen before when your summer August only knew the silence of deep winter.

The what if’s linger deep until it settles onto the blank snow, blanketing you both with the thoughts of what could’ve been if Xiao had only replied to your texts one by one.

Would Thoma have remained in your life? Would you be getting married to someone you never expected to meet? Would you have slowly forgotten what the beach looked like since there’s no point digging your feet in the sand when you didn’t have Xiao who constantly nagged you to stay still?

All these rhetorical questions, and Xiao still manages to take you aback when he chuckles to himself, the sound dry and exhausted. The shoulders who carried the weight of the world sags in defeat. “You know, it’s funny. I always imagined I’d be marrying you.”

The world crashes. The café you met up in goes silent, the people moving about rooting frozen from their spots yet your tea goes cold from the forever of beats that passed between words.

“What?”

“I remember you were always teasing me when we were younger. I thought it was cute, and I often dreamed that we’d end up together, but now you’re getting married and it’s far from everything I expected,” glancing at your engagement ring and the invitation letter sitting hauntingly between you, Xiao falters in his words. “But… I am happy for you. I can’t be happier now that I know you’re with a good man.”

“What… how… how can you say that, Xiao? Do you really have no idea how much I love you?”

“What do you mean?” he laughs nervously, “You were messing around back then.”

“I wasn’t. I meant every word I said.”

Shrugging, he looks down at his coffee with a frown so forlorn he embodies deep winter with not a warm body around to keep him company. “None of it matters now, does it? You are to be married, and I’ll go back to living my life once this all passes.”

“Passes? You think everything is that easy?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do, Y/N. Our feelings are exactly just that; feelings. They’ll come and go,” Xiao reassures, but it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself more than you. “You’re about to be married, and I want nothing but for you to be happy. Thoma is the kindest man you’ll ever meet so you’ll live a great life. You don’t need to look at me like that–you haven’t lost a thing.”

You haven’t lost a thing.

Not at all. How could you ever lose something you were never quite certain was yours to begin with? But now, it rested at the palm of your hands. Curled up like an innocent creature soaking up the warmth of your fingers until you’d been bled dry and iced to the bone, the rhythm of your heart bringing back to life what had never been dead, rather frozen in time.

“If it’s meant to pass, then why have I been in love with you for as long as I can remember?”

“Hey, welcome home!” Thoma greets the moment you enter your shared apartment, helping you get rid of your boots and hang your coat while you stare at the ground numbly. “How was your meeting with your friend? Did everything go well? Come tell me all about it through dinner–I made your favorite.”

You lean against the wall for support.

Your life is perfect. Every sane person would die for what you have: a loving, handsome fiancé who comes home early everyday to cook the food he knows you like, a cozy place to spend forever in, the scent of almond tofu screaming home and comfort. And then there’s Thoma, eagerly setting up the table and taking a chair for you when he notices you standing idly by the doorway, his smile creasing into worry as you swallow audibly.

He could tell from just one look of your face that tonight isn’t as good as he hoped. “Thoma…”

He’s beside you in the blink of an eye. Wrapping you in his strong arms, your fiancé rubs his hand up and down your back, easing you as the tears release like a broken damn. “Oh, darling, what’s wrong?”

“Thoma, there’s something I need to tell you,” you pull back, using the hem of your sleeves to wipe away the tears. He’s so beautiful, so kind that you couldn’t have possibly have the heart to hurt him. But your heart belongs to someone else, and you can’t lie to an honest man. He deserves the truth and the truth you tell, nails digging at your thighs as each word that comes out of your mouth drives a knife deeper into his soul. You tell him how you’ve never moved on from a summer love, from an eternal longing, to this craving of a person who left a hole in your heart in which only they could fill.

And you can’t do anything except let Thoma take a step back from you, furiously blinking back the tears that threatened to push through. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Thoma sniffles. “Hey,” he tilts your chin up, warm eyes glistening.

The sight of him, so forgiving even without his words, still so gentle in the way he caresses your cheeks like you hadn’t just stomped on his heart a thousand times nearly made you question if you’re doing the right thing. You wait for it, the hesitance, the slight skip of your heart signaling when a bad decision was to be made, yet there’s none. Nothing but silence lingers at the back of your mind now that Xiao’s face lingers as it has been since the day you learn to love a little more and hope a little less.

“I’ve always known.”

“What…?”

“At the back of my mind, I always knew there must be someone else. You always felt so… distant. You didn’t quite see me in the times you looked at me, and I wondered if you were imagining someone else before you. I won’t deny that I’m hurt and it would take me a while to recover, but you’ve seen me, Y/N,” delicately, he slips off the ring off his fingers and tucks it into your palm, hidden and stored away for eternity like a promise meant to be broken. “This is the first time you’ve let me meet you as you are. So go to him; I won’t hold you back.”

Bringing your fist to your lips, you attempt to muffle your sobs. “I-if you knew the whole time, why did you p-propose to me?”

Thoma smiles, his eyes crinkling. “I love you, and I hoped you felt the same.” “But what about us?”

“Don’t worry about that anymore,” he rises to his feet, his car keys spinning around his finger as he turns to you with a bright, wistful grin. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go find your best friend.”

He doesn’t need to say more before you’re reaching for his outstretched hand, the gesture as familiar as breathing and your hand fitting perfectly with Thoma’s. You hold on extra tight when you beam up at him, both from disappointment and excitement, the both of you aware this is going to be the last time you’d ever hold each other this close. So you hold onto him for dear life as he opens the car door for you, revs the engine like you’re running out of time and perhaps you are, because Xiao always seems to be slipping through your fingertips and you’re not deep August under the blazing heat of the sun anymore.

It’s deep winter. The snow is getting thicker with each passing minute, the road covered in white until the snow begins to flake in your lashes when you step out the car.

Xiao lingers outside his apartment, his breath coming out in small, heated puffs with his brows knitted in thought. When he hears the crunching of your boots, his head spins to your direction, eyes wide at the breathless figure of you. “You,” he breathes out, blinking aghast as Thoma leans over the car door with a supportive smile. He pieces two and two together, and laughs in disbelief. “You’re insane–”

“Xiao, I’m in love with you. I always have been, but now I don’t want to let you go now that I know what you feel. You… you’re all I ever wanted. I couldn’t possibly imagine what my life would be like without you.”

His lips thin. It’s enough to make your heart lose hope again–you’ve seen this scenario happen to you before, how he shuts himself off the world after convincing himself he’s not worth the affection and love people give him. He calls himself names, degrades himself into a smaller, lesser being who’d be best off alone before people realize he’s not as great as people make it out to be. The solace of never seeing people frown at him has been the only way he’s ever known life, but you ever so lovingly smiling up at him since the day you met makes him feel this is a risk he can take.

Maybe now, it’s time to let his walls crumble and let the ice thaw, to let deep August bring warmth to his life.

Studying your ring-free finger, Xiao lets his shoulders drop before crushing you into an embrace. “You’re too damn stubborn, you know that?” he rasps into your ear, and you wrap your arms around him, the biting cold making it painful to cry–the world’s own way of telling you there should be no gloom on the day you’ve always been waiting for. “You forced your way into my heart and I don’t think I can ever close it for you again.”

“Don’t you dare,” you sniffle into his shoulders, “I’m staying with you until you don’t want me anymore.”

the man in question frowns even deeper, allowing his polearm to disperse into fragments of lights before he approached your keeled-over form, "what are you croaking about? speak up. i can't hear you."

"gee, a little understanding, please?"

you didn't really take offense. if you had, then there was no way you could've befriended the sharp-tongued man who was just a few steps away from you by now. perhaps it was just a worthless attempt but you hoped that your little comment was enough to distract him, even just a little, from the gruesome sight you weren't able to clean up. who would've known that he was always watching your back from afar?

"who did that?"

"no one," you muttered, tense. it sounded more like a furious demand than a question and you don't think that you've ever heard such animosity from him ever since you met. heck, the way he spoke about his karma sounds tender compared to the tone he used now! "hey, calm down."

"you're bleeding. you need help."

xiao, despite not believing your words, motioned for you to come towards him. as much as he wanted to reshuffle the cards dealt by fate to whoever was dumb enough to lay a hand on you, he knew that he should probably find someone to assist you first. verr goldet should still be awake, he thinks as he glances at the moon that watched the scene curiously. time flows differently for the adepti and he couldn't be bothered to carry a watch when it doesn't apply to him but if he were to guess, it shouldn't be more than thirty past eight in the evening.

"i'm fine. there's nothing you can do to help me," you waved your hand haphazardly as you tried to stand, only to find xiao crouching in front of you.

"..." he grits his teeth, trying his hardest to fight the heat that was climbing up his pale neck, "what are you waiting for? it's faster this way so... just hurry up."

a confused sound escapes you and you half-believed that you just redefined speechlessness as you stared at his back. shifting your weight from one leg to another, you ultimately freeze as xiao turns his head slightly, just enough to meet your gaze impatiently but you knew him well enough to recognize the same shade of embarrassment on his pupils. deciding to cut the both of you some slack, you cautiously mounted his back and with an ease that made your heart skip a beat, he adjusted your position so you laid more comfortably and securely. despite your nervous fidgeting (caused by the very sharp reminder that his hands were firmly holding onto the flesh of your thighs), xiao doesn't seem to be having any trouble carrying your weight.

"um... i'm really fine... you don't need to do this. i must be really heavy, 'm so sorry..."

he only scoffs, squeezing your thighs as if to reprimand you, "you underestimate the strength of the adepti. this is nothing compared to what i have held long ago."

you don't reply, ashamed that you're taking this situation of context and even more ashamed that you're absolutely enjoying it. distracted by your fleeting thoughts, you don't notice that you have slowly nuzzled into the crook of his neck. it wasn't your intention but your subconscious desperately craved the warmth that exudes from his body. by the time you realized what you were doing, it was too late and you pretended to do it on purpose just because it felt a smidge less embarrassing.

with your bodies awfully close together, xiao desperately prayed that you didn't notice the way his breath hitched as your small sigh fanned a hot gust of air over his sensitive skin. he also prayed that you don't hear the wild pumping of his heart because he, himself, couldn't hear anything aside from that.

"xiao?" he tensed up, surprised at the intense thoughts that floated in his mind at the innocent call of his name. you're too near. you had only whispered his name prettily but in his mind, you might as well have screamed it until both his ears bled, "do you mind if we stop by dihua marsh first?"

"what? are you out of your mind? you're injured—"

"i promise i'm not—"

he ignores you're lighthearted laugh as he nearly growls, unconsciously digging his dull nails into your thighs that formed small, crescent-like engraving on your plush skin, "i can smell your blood from afar."

"hey, i really promise i'm fine. in fact, you can check for injuries right here and now!"

xiao pauses and you take it as him thinking over his options. when you slowly slid out of his grasp and he wordlessly let you, a small victorious smile curved on your lips, "if i see anything, i'm taking you to wangshu inn immediately and you better not utter another complaint."

"yes, yes... i understand. no need to frown so much," he doesn't speak of the bright twinkle in your eyes as you shrugged your coat off, twirling once to show that true to your words, no trace of blood could be seen on your clothes. aside from the remnants of the gore on your palms, you looked unscathed and xiao realized that he could finally breathe again.

"if you're not injured, what was that on your hand?"

you knew he'd ask eventually but that didn't stop the recoil from coming. nervously looking at the side, you took one long breath in before plastering a smile on your face as you met his ever-serious gaze, "about that... care to chat in a place more comfortable?"

xiao curiously raised a brow despite the seemingly permanent scowl on his face. still, he offered his gloved hand quite roughly though it was more endearing in your eyes, "to dihua marsh, right?"

"if it isn't too much trouble..."

"isn't it too late to say that?"

you only laughed at his little grumble, knowing full well that he doesn't mind taking you anywhere you wanted to go. why else would he go out of his way to accompany you to sal terrae three days after you mentioned it in passing? taking his hand gingerly, he immediately pulls you closer to him, and almost as quickly, a heady scent envelops you. for someone who claims that aromas do not cling to him after grueling hours of hunt, you sure could pinpoint that the fragrance on his clothes was one of the refreshing scents of qingxin flowers and honey-roasted almonds. it's faded now and you purse your lips in worry. surely that must mean that he hasn't been resting? xiao had the habit of having his beloved dish during the morning during the winter season, having been too exhausted by the increasing amounts of exorcisms he needed to do to bother eating upon his return.

shaking away your worry, you try to ignore the other underlying stench that coats him. death. it's nothing unpleasant like the decaying flesh of a cold corpse but there was something unique about it that you could recognize it as that. it was hard to describe but once you meet someone on their deathbed, you'll know. it's the scent of a fast-approaching demise carried by hundreds of volatile materials. who were you kidding? he deals with death so, of course, he'll smell like it. or maybe you've finally lost it and whatever scent you carried had rubbed off on him with your close proximity.

closing your eyes, you tried to focus on the good parts. the scent of the candied chestnuts and sweet potatoes that you ate earlier in your festival meal, the faint floral residue of the perfume you wore, the quick whiff you got of saltwater and sea plants... ah, you arrived. peering over xiao's shoulder, you tried to find a suitable spot to rest. you wouldn't appreciate your socks getting wet so definitely not near the waters. you have a hard time removing the dirt stains on your clothes so not the hills. the other parts are occupied by monsters and you couldn't be bothered with defeating them first.

biting back a sigh, you rolled your shoulders back. you might've been unusually picky tonight but you were about to relay some life-changing news. comfortability should be your right because soon it wouldn't even matter anymore. you swear it's just about that. you were certainly not procrastinating on the inevitable.

"we're here. speak now and fulfill your end of the bargain."

you chuckle nervously, "you really need to relax a little... would it kill you to be softer?"

"softness would do me no favors and neither would your avoidance. tell me now or i'll find out for myself."

" woah, there... is that a threat? we're not enemies here. i think i should remind you that."

he says your name once, eyes narrowed in a warning and you sigh in defeat, "okay. fine. i'm sick."

"sick? then shouldn't you be resting?"

you sighed, leaning against the trunk of an old tree, "like i said, it wouldn't help me."

"hmph. you mortals are so difficult. you say one thing and the other says another—"

"i'm dying," you interrupt him with a humorless smile, "there's no recovering no matter what i do so i'm out here walking while i still can. it's sad, isn't it?"

xiao swallows as he feels his blood freeze over. surely not? of all the people in liyue, he was one of those that painfully knew the permanency of death the best. it was not something to be thrown around as a foul joke! anger swells up in his chest but as he eyes the distraught hidden in your carefree smile, he finds his words dying in his throat. surely not...

"i was out here to say goodbye to you because... there probably won't be a next time. when you found me, i was just about to call for you but my body beat you to it."

he was certain that he was being delusional. of course, he has to be! the weight of his karma must've finally made his nightmares bleed into reality but that was it, wasn't it? nightmares, dreams... all of it could come blurring into the reality he perceives but they would never amount to be anything but that. dreams are dreams and reality is reality. there was no way that someone as pure and gentle as you would be fated to an early death. that was not how karma works. he would know.

"xiao? it's... a good time to say something? i'm getting pretty scared of your silence..."

the yaksha doesn't speak, doesn't breathe even as his fingers trembled at his side. you look too weak, too fragile to be the person he once knew. you try to reach out to him — anything to snap him out of his confused daze but he backs away. he backs away because the moment he feels your warmth radiate over his skin, he'll know that it was real — that he'd lose you many years before he expected to — and xiao refuses to accept that. he couldn't. it feels too much of a crime to add to his already long list.

"hey now... don't go avoiding speech when you just threatened me to say something..."

something foreign stirs in him. it's hot and suffocating and if that wasn't enough to say that it wasn't a good sign then nothing else would be. he's never been good with anything foreign, having been stuck in liyue for as long as he could remember and so when he feels that strange feeling bubble up — when he feels his chest close up and when he feels abnormally sharp claws carve at his heart, he schools his face to something colder, sinister even. he wanted to scream, claw his eyes out so the tears wouldn't fall but he can't do that. yakshas who knew death's caress as their first touch don't do that.

"unbelievable. you came all the way from the harbor to tell me this?"

"i— what?"

his grip grew taut and you notice. concerned eyes flitted from his eyes to his fists, convinced that he would've injured himself if it weren't for his gloves, "mortal life is fickle and death consumes your kind every day. there was no reason for you to tell me about such a common occurrence. if that is all, i'll be taking my leave. do not call for measly matters."

you watched as he teleported away, leaving you alone in the islet. not even the cicadas were around to accompany you tonight. it was just silence and unbearable cold.

you should've been mad at him for disregarding your life just like that. how cruel was it to say that you're overreacting when you were just a few hours away from certain doom? being mad was your right. no one would've judged you for it but how could you be mad?

he was crying.

you don't think you could bear to witness the sight one more time and so you left back to liyue harbor where it was easier to pretend that the voices in your head didn't exist.

CHRYSANTHEMUMS ARE BEAUTIFUL — and they would make for wonderful funeral flowers, you mused to yourself as you patiently eyed the vase that decorated director hu's office. she was out with zhongli doing god knows what but the undertaker in front was kind enough to let you wait inside. you'd rather not deal with the gossip that was sure to come. if someone were to catch you idling around in front of a funeral parlor, well, they'd surely jump to conclusions — correct conclusions.

"oho? ohoho? well, look who's visiting, mr. zhongli!"

"ah... yes... this is certainly a surprise but not quite unwelcomed. may i ask what brings you here?"

you laughed as hu tao came over to give you a hug, her cheeks smooshing against yours as she playfully cuddled into your seated form, "i came to inquire if that discount is still up for grabs?"

"hm? did you murder someone or something?"

"director hu," zhongli sighs as he offers you a cup of tea that was, thankfully, made already, "i hardly think that is an appropriate question to ask."

"no, it's fine. it's not a question i can't answer because i'm still perfectly innocent," you paused, "as far as i know?"

hu tao pulled away. with her seated in her chair properly, the scent of plum blossom that clung to her was gone and you could once again smell the incense that wrapped the entire building, "if not for some poor guy that you beat up, then for whom are you asking?"

"about that... aha, it's for me," your eyes meet zhongli's, and... who were you kidding, of course, he knew. the sad smile he sent you was comforting. it's nice to know that even after you pass, a god would still remember your name.

without letting hu tao ask, you recounted the interaction between you and the nuns of the church of favonius as well as your brief meeting with baizhu. aether had insisted that you get a second opinion and you didn't see the point when that night, you fainted out of the sheer pain that pierced through your chest once again. if there was truly hope left for you, then at least one of the potions albedo gave you would've quelled the pain, even if it was a measly bit.

"i see... i'm sorry to hear that. unfortunately, there is nothing that we can offer to suspend your fate but at the very least, we can give you a send-off to be remembered."

it's so strange to see her suddenly don a professional tone but you should've known better than to doubt her. despite her unusualness, hu tao was someone who's incredibly passionate about her job. you didn't need to know about funerary ethos to see that, "i was hoping i could leave the arrangements to you? i'm not really picky and i don't really have much time to ponder about the details. anything's fine as long as it's for close friends only uh... that is if they want to come..."

"i see... that can be settled. anything else?"

"i'd like chrysanthemums to be used and... um... is it possible to hold the rites without my body?"

"it could be done but... why?"

you shrugged casually. this was surprisingly an easy conversation though... you are talking to hu tao who has an unconventional but good perspective on life and death, "i don't think i'll be able to return to liyue from inazuma."

hu tao nods understandingly before proceeding to explain the things that were going to be done during the funeral itself. you wonder why she's telling you all of this when it wouldn't matter to you. still, you listen. this was important to her and it's... oddly heartwarming to see her determination as she worked.

"on behalf of everyone in wangsheng funeral parlor, no, everyone you've ever encountered, we are sorry to see you go. thank you for everything that you've done for us and we hope that you live the rest of your days to the fullest."

hu tao bows deeply in respect and zhongli follows suit, leaving you in an awkward position. you wanted to say that it wasn't necessary but maybe this was some cultural tradition that you didn't want to overlook. hesitantly, you bowed back out of respect before muttering that you had a ship to catch which, wasn't too far from the truth.

"please... allow me to walk you out."

zhongli sends you a polite smile, eyes seemingly hinting for you to accept and that was enough for you to indulge in curiosity. giving one last wave to hu tao, you step out of her office and into the well-maintained hallways of the establishment.

"forgive me if this is too intrusive to ask but... have you told anyone else?"

you huffed in amusement, "he knows if that's your true question."

"did you tell him yesterday?"

surprised, you only nodded as zhongli sighed with a soft shake of his head, "no wonder..."

"what do you mean by that?"

laying a hand on the small of your back, zhongli guided you away from a rushing passerby. liyue's streets are always busy. you don't think it'll ever stop for anyone, "miss goldet approached us in distress earlier. it was what director hu and i sorted when you first arrived."

"verr goldet? did something happen?"

"quite. a big chunk of dihua marsh was... damaged last night as the miasma seemed to mysteriously grow rampant."

you froze. xiao... "is he alright?"

"it's hard to be 'alright' when encountering such news..." he bitterly smiled, "loss is a battle constantly fought by those who have lived and will continue to live for many millennia. the more losses you have suffered, the less you know how to accept fate."

worry began etching itself on your features. this was far from what you expected to happen when you told xiao. if anything, it was him whom you expected to take the news the best as he had grown used to speaking words that portray him and death as close acquaintances. you were foolish to think that, in retrospect, and you wonder if you had made a mistake. as if sensing your thoughts, zhongli halts and briefly holds your hand as a signal.

"there is no outrunning the invitation of death however when you are told of this fact before you pass and you choose to silently take it to your grave, it is the living that must suffer the consequences of your action. mourning will never not cause pain but when you weren't told anything and weren’t given any time to anticipate loss, things that hurt, hurt more. "

zhongli pats your shoulder sympathetically, "that young adeptus has suffered a perilous life. it does not come as a surprise that he has run away from that which threatens to bring him pain once more. perhaps you would say that he should be used to such unexpected events after all that has transpired in the many wars he had witnessed but, dearest child, has he ever adored anyone as much as he adored you?"

"he hasn't... but he will," you cleared your throat, looking into the direction of yujing terrace, "he'll find someone who adores him just as much and he'll learn to return the favor."

the former archon chuckles as he follows your gaze, "do you say that to remove the guilt from your heart or do you say that because that is your wish for him? the words you speak now are words you could speak because he has spared you the sight of his anger and what is anger if not the part of him that loves you?"

"xiao cannot be judged by the same measure you use amongst your kind for he, himself, has suffered far too many grievances that none of you can comprehend. does it come as a shock when you see that anger is the only emotion he speaks?"

"anger... is the only emotion he speaks?"

"his affection has turned into an anger for his being that deserves none of your tenderness. his compassion has turned into an anger that drives him to continue to swear by his contract with rex lapis. now, his sorrow has manifested into an anger that screams for you whom he believed deserved a fate much kinder than what was bestowed. mayhaps not with him but xiao has only ever prayed for your safety and happiness. see him now and you'll see his resentment for the world that dared treat you with anything but kindness."

"is that why you're here?" you smile listlessly, "because you cannot fault him for his anger?"

zhongli shakes his head, mirroring your words from earlier, "is that your true question?"

"would you answer me if i told you it wasn't?"

"very clever," he chuckles with eyes misting over with subtle pride, "but if you must know... i simply think that one shouldn't miss such an opportunity. there is no greater pain than saying your farewells once the moment has passed when you had the chance to offer it in the moment it truly mattered.

"ah, i didn't realize we've walked this far. this is as far as i will go. please consider my words kindly and though it may mean very little now," zhongli lays a hand over your head as he tips his head slightly, "you have my blessing. may you go forth in prosperity.

"and he says he has placed his past behind..." you whisper to yourself as you make your way back to dihua marsh.

"you there! may i interest you with our selection of flowers?"

you blinked, "flowers?"

ONCE PERCHED AS A CROWN OF HOPEFUL DREAMS — nervously nibbling on your lip, you paced back and forth as you held your occupied hands in front of you. maybe this was a mistake and maybe zhongli was wrong to say that you should still venture to mutter your farewell when xiao has strictly told you to only call him if it's for urgent concerns.

ah, but is your passing not an urgent concern?

gulping, you looked at the bright blue sky above you. beidou wouldn't take it too kindly if you delay her any further when you were one of the people who pestered her to speed up the preparations for sailing. besides, if you didn't speak now, you wouldn't be able to speak to him ever again. with that in mind, you hugged the white chrysanthemums close to your chest.

"xiao," a soft gust of wind blows past your form and slowly, you opened your eyes to meet dull, amber ones.

"you called?"

"i did."

an awkward silence fills the small space in between you two and before he could utter something about leaving (you knew him and you recognize the downward curve of his lips), you spoke.

"i'm leaving for inazuma in a few hours and... i don't want last night to be our last conversation. i don't want you to hate yourself for telling me such words and i don't want to hate myself for keeping my silence. i think that... we both have too little time for that."

"...you're leaving?"

"i made a few friends in inazuma and while we spent the shortest time together, i figured i still owe them a goodbye," you walked towards the same tree you were leaning on before and sat under its shade, "sit with me?"

xiao hesitates before taking the spot beside you, leaving enough space so that you wouldn't be touching each other.

"...fair enough. um... i don't even know what i want to say but... i want you to listen. you can leave anytime you want. i won't hold it against you. you don't need to reply either. i just need you to hear me out or y'know... try to, at least."

taking his silence as his agreement, you looked down at your lap. you don't think you could meet his gaze. his eyes are too honest and his honesty was painful. too painful even for you who'll only need to bear it for a few more days, "uh so... i'm— fuck, okay."

"i'm sorry."

you pause in surprise, abruptly looking at him to see xiao's gaze turned to someplace far away, "what?"

"i'm sorry for running away and i'm sorry for not being able to protect you."

"you couldn't have done anything."

xiao scoffs, tracing over his mask bitterly, "isn't that the point? ...my feelings for you are difficult but i had sworn to you that i would protect you from whatever dares to lay you in harm's way. i didn't fail. i've come to your aid before anyone could even do so much as give you a scratch. i thought... that if i watched over liyue well enough, you'd at least live a prosperous life. i never dared ask for more. that much is enough."

"xiao..."

"but despite my efforts, death has no mercy and it sent a curse that i could never face. is this... a product of my karma? was the world's grudge so severe that it has to take the one person i swore to protect no matter what the cost?"

"this is not your fault! it's no one's so..." your indignant stance falters as he sends you a glare.

"do you think i'm so foolish that i don't know that? i do," he clenches his teeth, "but it doesn't change the fact that you're dying and i can't do anything. somehow, that makes me feel at fault no matter how absurd it sounds."

you slump further into the soil as he continues. in a similar absurd manner, it makes you feel sorry that you're dying, "you are... the only person who tried to understand me and succeeded and you'll be the only person to ever make me wonder about life's pleasures. i will remember you until my own demise comes and if sinners can receive the blessing of reincarnation too, then i shall remember you in mine as well."

for a while, you didn't respond and when you finally regained your bearings, you laugh lightheartedly, "and to think i came all the way here to ask you to let me go... i forgot how stubborn you can be."

"calling the adepti stubborn? hmph. you have some nerve."

"i still think it's better if you forget about me. it'll make you suffer less. make it hard to remember that i can't offer my comfort even if i want to with all my soul."

xiao raises a brow, a sigh escaping his lips as he sent you another half-hearted glare, "you might have forgotten so i shall remind you. though i am an adeptus, i could not care less about granting human wishes."

"and you don't ever have to worry about that," you scrunch your nose as you pinched his cheek much to his flustered surprise, "most people would rather live the rest of their lives in misery than bear through your agonizing glare."

"let me go—"

"you didn't let me finish."

"what now?" he mutters as he successfully pried himself off your grip.

"i won't tell you how to live your life. if you want to hold on to me until the next time we meet, fine by me. i'll rush to you as soon as i see you enter the pearly gates or something. if you want to remember my face until the very end of your years, then i'll remember your name for just as long but xiao... i also want you to be happy. i want to look down from up there and say 'ah, he's smiling... i'm glad.' i want you to try to live because if your adoration for me hasn't changed when we meet again, i'd want to be able to tell you that you carried me so well in your heart that it almost felt like i was still alive too. those simple wishes are the only things i'll ask from you because... hah, for the longest time that was my dream. i hoped to make you smile more myself but i don't think i'll be able to do that now... am i selfish for asking this?"

"you wish me happiness?"

taking his surprise as an opportunity, you laid the tightly knit carnations on his head, "why wouldn't i? you're the one this world owes it to the most."

"and this is?"

"a flower crown! i've always wanted to learn how to make one and that kind merchant in liyue taught me just in time. i'm offering the first and last one i'll ever make to you. i know you just said that you don't grant wishes but... is it bad for me to hope that i'm special enough to be spoiled by you?"

"such mortal accessories... do not suit me."

you rolled your eyes, "says who? you? invalid. i refuse to accept it. y'know... when you're not too busy glowering, you have really soft features that match such soft flowers."

xiao's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. thankfully, you knew him well enough to notice such minor changes. smirking in delight, you lean further into him as you watch a red hue slowly stain his skin, "oh? do compliments fluster you? my, my—"

"if you still want to go to inazuma in one piece, i'd shut up now."

"shutting up~"

chrysanthemums carry the weight of a million words. to some, they are a symbol of life and rebirth. to others, it's a symbol of devoted love and loyalty. to the less fortunate, they are tokens of grief — a beautiful message that honors the full life of the dead. chrysanthemums mean everything and anything but as you inched closer to xiao, no longer needing the respectable boundary between your two hurt souls, chrysanthemums could only mean the memory of someone to be cherished even beyond what this life could offer.

it's a shame that you must limit your shared joys to optimistic wishes but it'll do. even if the afterlife didn't exist, your equal adoration for him would continue to persist even after your body perishes. it was a promise. one you sealed with the crown he hesitantly wore.

“don’t tie down your happiness to me, xiao,” you lean on his shoulder, smiling softly when he didn’t pull away, “you deserve more than that kind of joy.”

╰ taglist

@dourpeep @justsidecharacterthings @nightfloweruponahill @chichikoi @genshiningg @bloopsimpsforxiao @midnightraindropme @infinite-cats @horangheyy @zephestia @diaflower @justlynna

You blink. “What is it? Can I help?”

Xiao shakes his head. “This is not something I need assistance with,” he explains, piquing your curiosity further. “This is just a question I have– I wonder what quality Chef Yanxiao possesses that has landed him the most gifts so far? More so than even Goldet?”

You blink. “More than Goldet?”

He nods. “More than Goldet.”

You frown. More than Goldet? She’s beautiful, charismatic (and you’re biased, biased, biased) and amasses the most presents every year. So what–?

You’re frowning still as you scoop another spoonful of the flan into your mouth. Ah, it’s delicious. Yanxiao had pleasantly surprised both you and Xiao when he’d brought it unexpectedly over, up at the topmost balcony where you were seated. A delight of the mortal world, you’d said to Xiao with a flourish. He’d almost smiled, and Yanxiao had seemed as pleased as you’d wanted him to be.

You’re touched, after all– he really does care for Xiao, and he even paid heed to the little figurative nudges you gave him in your quest to make Xiao sample more dishes. The sweet custard falls in line with Xiao’s preferred textures, whilst still being something new. Enrichment for the lovely Yaksha (and free dessert for you).

It’s just as you’re contemplating this– and as you’re busy wondering whether Xiao prefers the milder almond tofu to the much sweeter caramel custard– that it finally occurs to you.

“Ah!” You snap your fingers in delight. They make not a single modicum of sound. For a fleeting, embarrassing moment, Xiao smiles, before turning toward you neutrally once more.

“Yes?”

“Don’t laugh at me– actually, do laugh.” You shake your head. “You have a lovely smile.”

Xiao blinks again, in a way that is reminiscent of the kites you see by the harbour sometimes. “I’ve been told by Paimon to be weary of… people that tell me I look better when I smile.”

“That’s–” you sputter. What in the world, Paimon? 

“That’s not the same– whatever.” You huff, then lean closer. You doubt Xiao would be too familiar with the dreadfully unwanted advances of mortal men anyhow. “I just realised why Yanxiao gets the most presents. The answer is glorious.” 

Xiao mimics the motion– he rests an elbow on the table and leans the slightest bit forward

“And what is the answer?”

“The answer is that men that cook well are very, very attractive.”

Xiao blinks and settles back in his chair. You wish he hadn’t. 

“I see.”

You nod sagely. 

There’s some moments of silence as you finish off the snacks and tea. A pair of finches flutter up to the little nest they’ve made among the shingles, noisily fussing about it before settling down. Xiao pays them no heed. You can’t help but smile a little at the slight crease between his eyes as he sips– in some odd way, he seems more used to Yelan’s more unconventional tastes. You make a mental note to ask Yelan what she puts in her teas the next time you bump into one another.

Although… you suspect that isn’t quite the reason for his displeasure. You look carefully toward where his eyes stray once more. The same boy, now stubbornly scrubbing a different spot. A woman reading a book while an affectionate couple ostensibly laughs at the table adjacent to hers. Soraya is alone too, but you quickly see Xiao’s gaze shift away from her with– almost relief? 

What esoteric reason has him worried now? You frown. Breaching the subject so boldly might make him turn away. But– perhaps you could lighten the mood a little at first.

“By the way,” you say, and he faces you immediately, looking almost apologetic at having turned away. When you smile in reassurance, however, his lips seem to loosen with relief, the dispersed tension making them look suddenly pinker and plusher than before. 

Oh no. 

You hurriedly bring your gaze up to meet his– another mistake. You can’t believe you forgot you’re not supposed to look at the Vigilant Yaksha as the sun sets– his eyes glow.

“Yes?”

“Ah…” Crap. Where were you again? You rack your mind, flustered. Food, Yanxiao– right.

“Uh, can you… cook?”

Xiao’s eyes widen, and his lips part. For a moment you see a flash of his teeth– pristine, sharp– before he speaks.

“Er… very little.”

You brighten. “Oh, that’s great! We can cook together sometime– although no, never mind.” Your fingers tap your chin in mock embarrassment. “I forgot you hated cooking.”

Never in your life have you seen a man more mortified.

“I…” he trails off, throwing Soraya a restless glance. She continues contentedly poring over the papers on her table, chin propped on a hand. Xiao looks very much as though he wishes he could snatch the peace from underneath her to drape himself in instead.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Paimon.” Your answer is prompt. “She said you hated preparing it and that you don’t like wasting time waiting for it to cook.”

Xiao crosses his arms. “She exaggerates. I– forget it.”

Oh dear. You bite back a smile. You seem to have succeeded only to chagrin him. You’d regret it more, though, if he didn’t look the way he does now– pursed lips, one pinned slightly beneath the other. Awash in the warm light. All of Teyvat seems to exist solely to adorn him.

Even as he looks now– pensive, a bit perturbed– he looks lovelier than anyone in the harbour you’ve seen today, posturing and beautifying themselves– be it for friends, or a lover, or their own satisfaction.

Even the very wind seems to want to put him to an advantage– it plays with his hair, sending it tumbling into his eyes and he jerks his chin absently, an eye shutting to keep the strands out. His nose scrunches in the sweetest way.

Heavens. For a foolish moment, you truly believe– that this is Barbatos playing tricks on you.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when he hesitantly parts his lips, then shuts them again.

“What is it?” You instantly ask, now remembering why you teased him to begin with, in real embarrassment.

“It’s no matter,” he murmurs, then sighs, casting his gaze onto the empty dishes. “No matter at all. Shall I escort you home?”

“Oh, no.” You beam. “I’m staying the night.”

“Oh?”

You hum, and wonder if he truly looks as pleased at that as you want him to. 

“So you’ll be subject to my questions a little longer, I fear.” You laugh. “Tell me what it is you wanted to before– please?” 

Xiao sighs. There’s a lull as you wait for a moment, before he quickly asks, with the air of someone that doesn’t want to back out at the final second–

“Is it upsetting for mortals to not receive presents on this day?”

Huh? 

You think you have a sneaking suspicion as to what this is about.

“Is this about Soraya?”

“No.” He sounds almost relieved. “If anything, she looks quite content.”

You glance towards her again– and indeed, she does. She’s lit a quaint looking lamp to quell the gathering dark, and the bright, dappled light looks truly romantic– a dinner date for Soraya and Mx Research.

You hum. “Definitely.”

Xiao turns to you and prompts– “well?” 

“Well,” you muse. “Yes, for some people. Not so much for others. Why do you ask?”

He ignores your question, instead presenting yet another his own. “And what do you think would be a suitable present for any sort of mor– person on this day?”

You blink, chest suddenly warm. Does he mean to–? No, that’s silly. Surely he can’t mean to…

“Um, chocolate?” You hesitantly list. “Flowers… jewellery or charms? Cards. Sweets… flowers?”

Xiao leans back. “Two options reoccur.”

You grimace. “Sorry, I can’t think of more things. Cute mugs–?”

Xiao rises to his feet. 

✦—————————————✦

“That’ll be forty thousand.”

“What?” Your palm lands on the counter with a loud smack of disbelief. “That’s crazy! I’m not buying wilted flowers for forty thousand!”

“You need twenty sprays–”

“Twenty thousand is fine!”

It’s now the vendor’s turn to gape, but one look at your resolute eyes is enough to make him quickly turn to Xiao instead. 

“Sir–”

“We’re talking,” you huff, shifting so he’s hidden behind you. “Don’t turn to him! I know you sell them for a thousand, and sprays for a thousand fifty– please don’t think you can rob me by daylight just because he looks rich.” You jerk a finger in Xiao’s direction as the shopkeeper purses his lips.

“It’s nighttime, dear customer,” he hedges, “and I need to close up soon.”

“The gall– fine. Fine!” You turn to Xiao, eyes ablaze. You are sick of running amok all over Liyue and even sicker of attempting to negotiate for a fair price with this fellow. Perhaps you’d be fine with this otherwise, but really? On the one day Xiao accompanies you to the harbour?

“Xiao, it’s fine,” you quietly grumble, pulling him aside. “We already bought the chocolates– and besides, do you want to know why this guy’s the last to close? Because no one buys from him! The second he thinks–”

Xiao puts a hand on your arm, eyes wide in alarm. “I think– it is alright. I can more than afford it.”

“Exactly!” the vendor barks, overhearing. “Being stingy on Valentine’s–”

You whirl. “Being an ass on Valentine’s–”

“Dear Custo–”

“Stop.”

Xiao’s voice is soft, and yet it somehow rings through the air, stilling it. Shopping bags in one arm or no– he somehow looks so austere, narrowed eyes and lifted chin, eyes somehow catching every flicker of the lamplight– that the both of you quail immediately, wilting somehow more than the flowers themselves.

As soon as you do, Xiao turns to you with a quickly murmured apology, and you shake your head with a smile. You’ll cause a thousand more scenes if that’s what it takes to have another peek at General Alatus.

(Heavens, what you wouldn’t give to– no. No.) 

There’s a pause as the shopkeeper silently wraps the posies and sets them begrudgingly in your arms. He frigidly tells Xiao– that’ll be twenty thousand. Xiao gives him thirty, and you bite your tongue.

You hold your peace in embarrassed silence until you’ve passed through the harbour. Xiao makes you wait at the bridge, telling you he’ll return soon in his quiet voice. He strolls quickly off, in a gait that would be almost comically quick were it not accompanied by his gravitas– you cannot laugh at Shenhe, and you cannot laugh at Xiao. 

Deciding to take advantage of the solitude, you step onto the bridge, determined to cool off. The encounter with the vendor was bitter, just as it is month after month, year after year– but, you remind yourself, the reason for its occurrence at all is decidedly sweet. It has you smiling to yourself as you set the bag of sweets by your feet and lean against the railing to peer down at the water below.

You expect a dull sight– with Lantern Rite having passed, most of the bright lights and lively decor have been carefully put away for another year. From where you stand, there is little the water can reflect in the dark– the shifting waves do not allow still images to form.

Even so… you reach out absently with a hand. The moon and stars have long since come out. Although high above in truth, they get to step off the dais of the sky via the waters’ reflection, and descend to make merry in the waves below. They throw gentle glimmers of light to you amidst their soiree, lighting up your fingers and weaving through them to drape the rest of you in a cascade of bright dapples.

A breeze whisks around, tousling the waves and your hair further. The heavens pick up the pace for their dance. From the corner of your eye, you see something flutter barely an arm’s length away and jump.

Oh– you bring a hand up to your chest with a soft laugh of relief. It gets swallowed by the waves, but from the way his eyes soften, you think Xiao heard it anyway.

“Archons, you scared me.” You smile. Noticing the bag in his arms, you continue– “no matter. Do you have everything you need? Shall we get going?”

Xiao does not answer.

Spoken language has made itself comfortable in his throat– try as he might, he cannot coax a word out, and he belatedly realises he cannot even think of a single thing to say.

Why, he wonders, have you whiled away your time with him? When you could be seated across from a lover at Liuli Pavilion in warm candlelight instead of standing out here in the cold, helping him run an errand no one might appreciate? He feels a pang of guilt for having basked in your smiles all evening, when you could have just as sunnily bestowed them on a more deserving suitor.

You are so lovely– so patient, and kind, and fierce, and beautiful. Watching you reach for the stars reflected in the water when more luminescent than anything the heavens could birth, had sent a pang through his chest– how miserable, to reach for the moon when he cannot even readily bring you what these lands have to offer.

Perhaps this outing was… a mistake.

There is only so much to be done to familiarise himself with the mortal world. He nods at you pensively and hurts again when you smile, waiting for him to fall into step next to you before walking with him. Side by side, whispers his mind.

The voices that follow are louder– There are a thousand little things to know. The mundane life his siblings had wished for him feels more out of reach the longer he tries to indulge in it. 

“Hey, what are you thinking?”

He glances at you, startled out of his thoughts. Staring too long hurts. At this hour, you’re draped in the same grays the night brushes everything with. Like this, you seem made of the same silver that all of Liyue is. He tries not to think of what he told Yelan once– All of Liyue is a fine location.

“Nothing in particular.”

As the two of you step out of the harbour, you grant him another smile, and it feels like a second moon has peeked out from behind the clouds,

“You lie a lot,” you lightly say and he feels both scolded and soothed all at once. “You don’t have to answer or tell me, but I’m sure it’s not nothing.” 

He’s unsure of how to respond.

You seem to sense this– you always do. “We can talk about it if you’d like.” You let it hang in the air for several moments; a promise. When he finally nods, your smile widens, and the sun comes out. 

The breath is knocked out of him in both wonder and confusion when he realises– you just walked underneath a lamp, is all.

Morax, take me.

“Oh, by the way,” you continue, oblivious as he struggles to find a rhythm for his strides once more. “How will you know where to drop–” you lift up the bags momentarily– “these off?”

His eyes widen. “Hand them to me.” When he reaches for them, you turn away and his fingers brush against your warm back. He recoils.

“Absolutely not. Anyway, the presents?”

He glares, then yields, eyes softening as he sighs. You’ll never relent– it’s best to slip out of sight of the Millelith Guards quickly so you can teleport back. 

“The presents… some of the recipients reside at Qingce; the rest, at the Inn itself.”

“Oh. Should I ask Verr for the addresses of the ones at Qingce?”

“No need. I know of their residences already,” he says, and hopes he doesn’t imagine the way your eyes soften in turn.

He doesn’t quite need to imagine the curve of your lips, though. The way you futilely try to squash your smiles. He can’t help but find your failures beautiful, and opens his mouth to almost tell it to you– just a compliment paid on Valentine’s, nothing more– when you notice him about to speak and turn to him attentively. He fumbles.

“You…” he tries, then admits defeat. “Seem to have enjoyed yourself today.”

It was a bluff– but to his surprise, it strikes him as the truth the moment it leaves his lips.

“I have,” comes your cheery answer. “How did you know?”

“You have smiled an inordinate amount today,” he easily says.

If his bluff came to him as a surprise, your next words come as astonishment.

“Yes,” you say. “Since I got to spend time with you.”

The remainder of the journey is both quick and silent. Once you’ve turned around the corner and out of sight, he makes you appear near Wangshu Inn once more.

As you walk along, he sees you glance at the silk flowers lining your path and pause. You hand him one of the bags, apologetic, and he gently snatches both before you can protest, easily bringing his arm behind his back despite the weight.

You ask to hold the other bag in his hands instead, then. The purchase he made all alone. He declines. When you finally ask what’s in it, unable to deny your curiosity any longer, you are met with rejection once more.

“Whatever,” you huff, then crouch to pick the flowers that caught your eye.

He waits by the lamps as you slowly make your way over and watches the sun come out once more. Once you’re done, you fall into step with one another. Together, you make your way to the lift. When a passing stranger smiles at you, you wave back. Xiao watches the stranger’s smile widen and feels a strange sense of kinship.

The lift ascends just as you reach it. You glance at one another with frustration that neither of you really feels.

“I trust you’ll be alright the rest of the way?” He enquires as the lift descends several seconds later. You shake your head.

“Absolutely not. I’m prone to throwing myself off heights, you see.”

His heart stops. “This is no laughing matter.”

Even so, you laugh, and he can’t find it in himself to be angry when his chest now restricts uncomfortably against his stuttering, speeding heart instead.

“Sorry, sorry. Good luck on your quest!” You wave, and the lift carries you up, and Xiao is suddenly glad to be alone. 

✦—————————————✦

The task is simple, and over before he knows it. He’s slipped nearly all of his recipients’ gifts in already, through open windows and ajar doors when he realises the present he bought you is yet in his arms.

His fingers tighten around the last of the sweets and flowers before he comes to his senses– to his relief, there was no real harm done. Hopefully the shock of having received something in this ridiculous fashion will serve to make this poor mortal look past his slightly squashed and bent presents.

He tries not to think of you as he delivers the rest. He fails, and realises he finds his failures less beautiful than yours.

✦—————————————✦

Wangshu Inn is a fine location, Xiao absently thinks as he reappears home, hours later. Taking his bloodied gloves off, he surveys the lands below.

The marsh sprawls beautifully around, reflecting the skies with far more clarity than the seas. It is made still more beautiful by the lack of any monsters in the vicinity. He’s suddenly saddened when he realises mortal sight disallows them from seeing what he can– stars in the air and stars on the ground, as though heaven and earth were one, interchangeable. From this height, he doesn’t need to spread his wings again to feel as though he were flying.

To a mortal, however, it is only a beautiful marsh. 

What a pity. He should describe it to you sometime. If he trusted his fingers, he would perhaps try to paint it… but. He shakes his head. He mustn’t waste his time on such frivolities. 

Guilt prods at him, for returning so late. Xiao tells it– it was for the best. With him gone, you can spend your time in mortal company with a good meal, and have some well deserved rest.

Even so, his feet make him step toward the doorway. Enter it, walk down the stairs. He struggles to find an excuse for it– should he tell Goldet he’s simply here to inform her of his return? No, he’s never really bothered to before. Perhaps he’ll ask if there’s any almond tofu left for him. As he absently turns sideways to allow a pair of women to carry a table upstairs, he muses– yes, that would make for a good excuse. 

Another woman apologetically asks him to move to the side again, as a couple of men heft two chairs up to the uppermost balcony. He’s about to tell them to use the other stairway when he notices the pair of women hurrying up it with trays of food in their hands.

Finally perceiving his surroundings and encounters, he turns about in confusion, only to find that he’s reached the lower floor already, and that the staff have already raced off ahead to set a table of two in his balcony.

“What–?”

“Xiao!” 

He turns in time to see Goldet give him a relieved nod. 

“Ah, you’ve finally returned.” She puts a hand to her chest. The cat, (her cat?) Wei leaps off her desk and coils round his legs, then trots toward Huai’an as he sees the man coming.

“Xiao!” Huai’an looks equally relieved, and dread coils round his feet where Wei had a moment ago. “Thank goodness you’ve arrived– our guest insisted on waiting for your return before they ate. I shall send them upstairs immediately–”

“What?” Xiao exclaims, as Wei meows insistently. Huai’an nudges him aside with a foot, grimacing at the heat in Xiao’s voice. “Whatever do you mean?”

“They said they wanted to wait for you,” Verr explains. “Do not worry, they would have dined soon had you not come. Shall we send someone to fetch them?”

Xiao clicks a tongue as the cat flops over his feet. He gently steps back, and Wei swats angrily at his shoes. “No need,” he huffs. You deserve to be scolded within an inch of your life, and that is one thing he trusts himself to deliver. “I shall go myself.”

For all his fondness, he miserably thinks, he is determined to berate you and make you dine alone. Or perhaps he should sit right across you as you eat– he cannot decide what would be more punishing.

If only he hadn’t foolishly wallowed in his anxiety, and if only his anxiety were not birthed by his affection. He shudders at the word and runs a hand through his hair. He could have been here hours earlier, and you would already be in bed.

He raps on your door just as a table in the distance erupts into laughter so loud it swallows the sound of his hummingbird-heart. Beyond the door, all movement comes to a halt as you hear him. Then there’s the hurried sound of rustling cloth, an opening latch, and the door swings open to reveal you tugging on a jacket.

You begin scolding before he can.

“What took you so long?” You demand. Before he can answer, your eyes drop from his face to his shoulders, then his hands. They soften when they see the muck on his shoes. “Oh.”

His lips part, then shut again. You frown.

“No, no,” you soothe. “Say it. Did something happen?”

Xiao shakes his head. Although you do not speak, your voice rings in his ears– you lie a lot.

And lie he does. “I saw some monsters on the way.” He doesn’t face you as he says it, instead turning to the present in his hands. He places it absently on a sideboard inside, by the door. He’s prepared to embarrassedly dodge your curiosity about its contents, but it’s him your mind seems occupied with.

“Oh. I hope clearing them out wasn’t too difficult?”

“Mere hilichurls.” he scoffs, and you smile.

“I see. Wanna come inside and freshen up?”

He’s about to nod and take his shoes off when he remembers– oh heavens.

“No.” He crosses his arms, turned austere again, and you laugh in understanding as you push him gently out of the way to lock your door.

“Ah, so someone snitched.” You glance at him over your shoulder, fumbling with the rusty lock. He makes a mental note to remind Huai’an to have it oiled. “Who was it?”

“Wei,” comes his answer, and you shake your head.

“Liar.”

There’s a moment of peace as you step towards the stairs, before Xiao remembers he’s supposed to scold you.

“You should have eaten,” he says, with real heat in his voice, for once. “How long would you have waited had I not arrived, anyhow? And besides– why did you not call for me when you wished to dine with me? Even that aside, you should have dined the moment we returned.” You blink rapidly as his diatribe continues. 

“It was late already and it is even later now. Do mortals not need sustenance at steady intervals? This is an incredibly irregular time for a meal. Swear to me to not do this henceforth.”

“Huh? No, sorry.” You shake your head, and much to his misery, he feels his anger dismantling at the very suggestion of what you’ll say next. He allows himself one moment of foolish hope– just one singular moment before it is crushed– and falls into stunned silence when it isn’t.

“I like eating with you,” you say, and nothing more. As though the reason were so simple– as though that was all there was to it.

He looks away.

Something scratches weakly at his ribs, at his throat. He swallows it firmly. He will not– cannot– give name to his emotions, not yet. He will save that for later, when he is too tired to fight and too unwilling to sleep. 

But– for your sake– he’ll stay without complaint.

I like eating with you.

Yes, since I got to spend time with you.

You say something just then, and he is grateful to your voice. It is an excuse to turn away from his thoughts. How frustrating– if he were to forcibly turn away from them, it would mean they were significant enough to force away to begin with. And ruminating over them… means ruminating over you.

This accursed day. He sighs just as you’re midway through your sentence turns warm with embarrassment. 

“My ap–”

“It’s okay.” You tip your head, amused. He wishes he were skilled enough to paint your smiles, then wills the thought away. “But anyway, I just wanted to ask if you needed some time to freshen up? I can eat alone, since you won’t let me wait any longer. And– wait, oh.” You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with horror. Unbidden, he thinks– adorable. He is charmed instantly by the sight, and so his voice is impossibly soft when he speaks.

“Yes?”

Your face contorts ever so slightly, in a way he doesn’t think he’s seen before. Embarrassment? Shyness? He regrettably has no more time to puzzle over it– you make it vanish in a way that denotes practice.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sounding so sincerely repentant he wonders who died, or who has to. He cannot take a mortal life– but Yelan could.

“Why?” He frowns.

“I didn’t even ask if you wanted to eat with me.”

Huh? The word is right on the tip of his tongue, ready to jump– ridiculous– when he swallows it. He may think your consideration a bit foolish, he knows, but the reason is that he is always looking for excuses to linger longer around you anyway. How could he not want to eat with you?

You, on the other hand, jump to defend him from himself. Just as he knew you would.

“Hey, come on!” You protest. “It’s not silly to ask when you’re free! It’s uncouth to call you whenever, you know.”

He wishes he were better at concealing his laughter from you.

He finds it childish, perhaps a little ugly– with its little huffs and wheezes, it sounds more like a series of rasps than a laugh. He simply cannot help it, because he knows why you hesitate, and perhaps it makes his amusement still more childish.

Imagine I call you away while you’re in the middle of something, you’d said the first time he told you his name was yours to call. ‘Anytime?’ ‘Anywhere?’ Seriously? What if you’re on the toilet, or asleep, or on a date. You’re in someone’s arms and all of a sudden you– whatever. Or you need to clean up but I need an impromptu dance partner so I call you and you show up all muddy and covered in blood, and all my friends go–

“What?” You say, now chuckling too as he places a hand on the railing, shutting his eyes. His throat hurts. “Why are you–” you burst into laughter as you say it, and for a fierce, burning moment, he wants to tug you closer and kiss you. Taste your mirth on his lips, right here where everyone can see.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, curved lips and light breaths. He stills himself for reasons he doesn’t understand, but finds that the last remnants of his joy refuse to be wiped off, smudging across his lips. You look at him intently, as though committing the sight to memory. As though it is something worth remembering with care.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head and begins his ascent up the stairs once more. Your arm brushes his and he imagines for a moment, what it would look like if you linked them the way he’s seen couples do across millennia.

You don’t push it. “Okay,” you sigh. “Would you at least tell me what you left in my room back there?”

His steps come to a halt.

“A gift,” he says, deliberately vague. “I… selected something I thought you might prefer.”

“Oh?” Your eyes sparkle. He hopes they’ll sparkle the same once you unwrap it. “What did you get?”

“I cannot say.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I…” he hedges, “am told surprises make for better presents?”   

“What?” You huff. “Who told you that?”

“Paimon.” His answer is prompt. You shake your head and gesture for him to go on ahead. He waits instead for you to fall into step with him once more. Privately, he decides– walking side by side is much pleasanter than storming on ahead, or lurking behind.

Reaching the balcony reveals quite the feast– Yanxiao has outdone himself, and Xiao is torn between guilt at him having prepared this all for him, and gratefulness for having prepared this all for you. He takes a seat before he remembers something about tugging out a chair for you, but dismisses the thought. How puerile. Surely you’d only take offence at him insinuating you couldn’t take a seat on your own.

“Well,” you say, petulance morphing quickly into delight at the sight of the feast before you, “Paimon isn’t all wrong. And, besides.” You beam, and he prepares his heart for the nonsense you’ll spout next. “With how caring you are, it’s probably something I’ll love.” His chest hurts, but you spout still more sweet nonsense– “and anyway, if it’s a gift from you? I’ll cherish it to the utmost.”

How, he wonders, quietly nodding and serving himself some fish, does one respond to that?

Thankfully, you seem to need no answer. You cheerily serve yourself a bit of everything– Yanxiao took both your tastes into consideration, after all– and chatter on about your day, about recent events, about the annoying mosquitoes that keep you up at night. He answers when you ask questions, and talks on without meeting your gaze when the subjects meander. In his periphery, he sees you look on keenly when he does.

Dessert comes too soon. 

Xiao feels sincere dismay when someone comes up to clear the table and set dessert before you both– two bowls of almond tofu, comforting and familiar, with a small pot of honey on the side in case you need it. He worries for a moment that you’d prefer something different, but is relieved to see your eyes widen in delight.

“A sweet ending to an even sweeter day,” you say, once you’ve thanked the staff. “Ah, forget I said that,” you continue with a laugh. “That was corny. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Xiao starts to smile, then realises he’s doing so already. He bites back his startlement. “Alright.”

You eat in pleasant silence. When he reaches for the pot of honey, you swat his hand away and drizzle it over the dessert yourself.

“I’m glad we’re ending this with almond tofu,” you say, finishing the last of it just as he does. His smile turns smaller at ending. “Yanxiao kind of made the flan earlier mostly because I asked… sorry. I hope you didn’t mind too much.”

“Of course not,” comes his insistent answer. “It was a pleasant change.”

“Ah, good.” Your shoulders relax and the incessant smile turns just a bit brighter. “I thought it might’ve been too sweet.”

He stands, and holds out a hand to you. His fingers warm when they hold yours, the coolness dispelled by your touch. 

“I’ve contended with many a sweeter thing today,” he murmurs. He regrets it as soon as he says it– he needs a firmer hold on that tongue of his. Foolish, inconsiderate, selfish. To think he could stoop low enough– to nearly invite a mortal into his affairs.

He shakes his head firmly and is about to bid you a firm good night when you gently squeeze his hand. The words die on his tongue.

“Isn’t that funny?” You say, softly. There’s cheek there, and joy– and something tender that he refuses to place.

“What?” He whispers.

You beam. “So have I.”

you had been surrounded by monsters when he first saw you, kneeling at the statue of morax in qiongji estuary, but calling his name instead. your voice had been steady, filled with a kind of faith that surprised him. you knew who he was, you’d said, as if it was the most natural thing. you’d heard stories from your grandmother, stories of a lone yaksha who appeared whenever his name was uttered by those in need. and you wanted to see if it was true.

and so, here he was, appearing as you’d called, defeating those mitachurls one by one, each strike of his spear swift and precise. when the last one fell, he stood there, catching his breath ever so slightly, casting his spear aside in silence. he hadn't expected anything more from you—just another mortal in need. but you had smiled at him, a smile so calm it almost unnerved him. instead of thanks, you'd offered him almond tofu with a laugh, as if the battle had never happened. and then you’d started talking, right away, without hesitation.

you had talked, and talked, and kept on talking, telling him things that made no sense, stories of your childhood, of legends passed down, of things he barely listened to. later, he would call it yapping, a playful word he used to tease you, a way to remember just how talkative you were, how easily words flowed from you. but in that moment, all he could do was stand there, quietly watching, trying to understand why he didn’t just leave like he always had.

"you know," you'd said once, watching him eat with that familiar knowing smile, the one that always seemed to see right through him, "you really should talk more. or mingle. you'd see how nice the world really is. it might do you some good."

he barely looked up from the almond tofu you'd ordered for him, scoffing quietly between bites. "i watch the sun set every evening from wangshu inn’s balcony. i think i’m aware of how nice the world is."

you’d laughed then, that light, carefree sound that somehow always made his chest tighten, and said something about how adepti were as strange as they were magnificent, both awe-inspiring and out of reach. it was so simple for you to say things like that, as if his world wasn’t weighed down by centuries of bloodshed and darkness.

but to him, you weren’t just a passing experience or another mortal he’d saved. you were more. you had become everything. you painted his once colorless existence with your brightness, your endless energy and warmth. you tainted all that was his, and yet he found himself unable to resent it. instead, he cherished it. you made the world around him vibrant in ways he hadn’t thought possible anymore.

you hadn’t realized how much of a monster he truly was. how deeply he carried the burden of grief, the looming presence of death that trailed behind him like a shadow. you didn’t know, and he was grateful for that. he was thankful you never had to see the weight of karma he bore, how it could have destroyed you just by being near him. but you didn’t care. you stayed, content just to exist beside him, as if his presence alone was enough for you. and in his quiet way, he was glad.

"why do you seclude yourself?" you had asked him softly one evening, sitting on the balcony of wangshu inn. the sky was painted in soft hues of orange and pink, but your eyes were fixed on him. you sat with your back against a large potted plant, legs stretched out on the wooden floor, your gaze gentle but unwavering. he shifted where he sat, clearly uncomfortable under your scrutiny, before clearing his throat.

"everything i touch... rots," he said, his voice low, as if the words themselves were too heavy to say.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you tilted your head, brow furrowing in confusion, but still, there was kindness in your voice. "i think you’re wonderful."

he looked at you then, a brief glance, his expression unreadable. "that’s because you’re one of the only things that hasn’t rotted. or died."

there was a pause, the weight of his words settling like a dark cloud between you. before you could respond, he stood up, turning away abruptly. he didn’t want to explain further. he knew you too well—you would pry and prod until the walls he’d built so carefully over centuries crumbled around him, and all his hidden scars and buried grief spilled out like shattered glass. you were good at that, at unraveling him without even trying.

he never liked talking, especially not about himself. he kept to the shadows, spoke only when necessary, exactly as you’d always pointed out. but with you, it was different. it felt easy. and that frightened him more than anything else.

and you chased after him like he was your wildest dream, determined and unwavering, as if he was something worth catching. your presence clung to him, a persistent shadow in his mind, trailing him wherever he went. the memories of you were relentless, following him like an irritating seelie, refusing to be shaken off. there were moments, in the thick of battle or when danger pressed close, when he’d see your face flash before his eyes—and that terrified him. because now, he had something to lose. he had something he cared about.

and that, in itself, was a weakness. but perhaps, a greater strength.

still, the nightmares came, wrapping around him like chains, pulling him into the past. memories of his fallen comrades, consumed by their karmic debt, haunted him. the weight of it all pressed against his chest, a suffocating reminder of his inevitable fate. would it catch up to him too, one day? would he fall just like the rest of them? the thought twisted inside him, more painful than anything he had endured in the past half-century.

for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he was afraid. afraid of death—the very thing he had accepted long ago as his inevitable fate. it was always there, lurking like a familiar shadow, patiently waiting to claim him. he’d lived for so long without fear, resigned to the thought that when it came, he would welcome it like an old friend. but now, that resignation was gone, replaced by a gnawing anxiety that gripped him tighter each day.

because now, he worried. he worried about what would happen to you if he suddenly disappeared, if one day he simply didn’t return. who would you crack jokes with? who would you buy almond tofu for, or carefully prepare bowls of soup when the weather grew cold? who would you call out to, just to chat, even when you knew he wouldn’t say much in return? the thought of you standing there, waiting for a response that would never come, terrified him in a way nothing else ever had.

"xiao," you said his name with such softness, so much tenderness, that it made his skin crawl in ways he didn’t understand. it was unsettling, how easily your voice could unravel him, how it could make the walls he had built around himself feel so fragile. he didn’t know what this feeling was, this ache that blossomed whenever you were near, but he knew one thing with certainty: he had to push you away. slowly, carefully, before it was too late.

it would be for the best. he couldn’t afford to let you stay close, not when his existence was tainted by karmic debt and mistakes that clung to him like a curse. staying near him would only bring you pain, and he knew—he knew—he couldn’t watch that happen. he’d rather do it to himself, rip you away before the world did it for him. better to sever the bond now, before it destroyed you both.

"xiao, are you listening?" you had asked, your voice a gentle lilt that pierced through the fog of his thoughts. your hand waved playfully in front of his face as you stood beside him on the balcony, a place that had slowly become yours too. it was a small slice of the world shared, where laughter intertwined with silence and secrets lingered in the cool night air. but with every moment you spent together, he felt a deepening ache—a nagging reminder that everything that was his was now entwined with your fleeting existence. he hated that, the way you had woven yourself into the fabric of his life, and the thought of it made his heart feel heavy.

a mortal’s life was but a flicker in the vast expanse of time, while his stretched endlessly, a burden he didn’t want to bear. he knew, deep down, that staying by your side would only lead to heartbreak and ruin. the longer you remained together, the more he feared he would hurt you in ways he couldn’t predict.

it felt like he was grasping at shadows, coming up with excuses to push you away, which he probably was. but in his mind, it was the only way to keep you safe. and safe meant far from him.

with a soft hum, he blinked, finally turning to face you. you tilted your head, watching him with an all-knowing expression that unnerved him deeply. in the time you’d spent together, you had learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor, peeling back layers he thought he had locked away. that, too, irked him.

"i think we should go see lantern rite together this year," you said, leaning casually against the railing of the balcony, the soft glow of the lanterns in the distance reflecting in your eyes. he felt his heart skip; a flurry of emotions swirling inside him. this was it, he thought, his moment to counter your enthusiasm, to disappoint you.

this was how he would push you away.

"i cannot," he replied, his voice strained as he cast his gaze down to the rushing waters below, the sound echoing his turmoil. "in fact, i don’t think you should see me anymore."

you blinked slowly, a flicker of confusion passing over your face as you tilted your head, that endearing gesture that sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. he continued, forcing the words through the tightness in his throat, "it is not right for me to stay by your side all the time. you have become a weakness."

the mantra repeated in his mind: this was for the greater good. you would be safe, removed from his chaos, ensconced in the comfort of your home. away from him, you would remain alive and untouched, without the looming shadow of his past creeping into your light. you wouldn’t have to face the horrors that stalked him, the remnants of bloodshed that stained his hands and soul.

it would be better this way, he reassured himself again and again, each time feeling the sharp sting of betrayal against his heart. to summon the courage to break your heart felt like a curse. but he knew he had to do it—for you, for your future, for the fleeting moments of joy that would continue without him. the thought twisted like a knife in his gut, yet he clung to it, desperately trying to convince himself that it was the right choice.

he watched as your lip twitched, the slight quiver betraying the storm behind your eyes. they narrowed in confusion before widening in a painful clarity. he could feel your throat tighten, mirroring his own, and the ache in his chest spread like the roots of a poisoned tree, twisting deeper with every second. it was unbearable, watching the hurt bloom on your face, raw and unfiltered. "why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice soft but strained, barely holding itself together. "i thought everything was fine. between us, i mean."

"nothing can ever be fine," he said, his gaze pulling away from yours, as though the weight of it was too much to bear. he couldn’t look at you—couldn’t let those wide, vulnerable eyes unravel him. if he held your gaze for even a moment longer, he knew he’d falter. and he couldn’t afford that. he had to do this, to sever this fragile bond before the world shattered you in ways he couldn’t prevent. "nothing is fine if i am in it," he added, his voice hollow, "this is for your own good. leave, and be safe by yourself."

"what are you saying?" your voice trembled, disbelief washing over your features. "i’m perfectly fine, and i’m capable of taking care of myself—"

"you don’t even have a vision," he cut you off, sharper than he intended, each word slicing the air between you. the look in your eyes made his chest tighten further. "i don’t trust you with a normal hilichurl, let alone the dangers that surround me. you can’t protect yourself if you stay near me. so please, try and understand. it’s better for your safety... for your future, if you simply stay away. stay away, and you’ll be fine. you’ll be okay."

"are you doing this for my safety, or for your own peace of mind?" you asked, your voice shaky, fragile as the first hint of winter frost. the tears welling in your eyes reflected the lanterns glowing faintly in the distance, and he felt his heart twist violently. more than anything, he wanted to reach out, to cradle your face in his hands and wipe away the pain he'd caused. to hold you close, to whisper lies of comfort, to pretend that this wasn’t happening. the wind gently tousled your hair, carrying with it a soft scent of jasmine, a cruel reminder of how close you still were. but instead of pulling you into his arms, he stood there, motionless, breaking what you both held sacred with words that tasted like ash.

"i..." his voice faltered, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like an invisible force. "i’m doing this because you’ve become a weakness. and i can’t... i can’t see you becoming my strength."

your lips part, and a single tear glides down your cheek, tracing a delicate path of sorrow that he cannot bear to witness. silence envelops the space between the two of you, heavy and suffocating. you don’t say a single word; instead, your lips press into a straight line, an unsaid disappointment that hangs in the air. you gaze at him for a few fleeting moments, as if hoping he might find the strength to apologize, to reach out, to do anything that might undo this unbearable weight hanging over you both.

but he remains still, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun dips below the edge of the world, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. the beauty of the sunset contrasts sharply with the growing ache in his chest as he listens to the sound of your footsteps retreating down the stairs, each thud echoing the fractures forming within his heart.

did yakshas even have hearts? he muses, a bitter thought cutting through the remnants of his resolve. he could conquer legions of demons, wade through oceans of blood, yet he stands powerless against the choice he’s made, knowing he must let you walk away. it is a paradox he cannot escape: to have you near would invite chaos, hubris, and ultimately, ruin—his own and yours.

and so, xiao, the conqueror of demons, watches as you slip away into the gathering dusk, a light fading into shadow. he knows, with a heavy heart, that if he had allowed you to remain by his side, nothing would have been lost, and everything might have been different. yet duty looms larger than any fleeting moment of joy or connection, a relentless tide that pulls him under. he clings to it as a lifeline, forsaking the warmth of your presence for the cold embrace of his responsibilities, believing that sacrifice is the only path to salvation.

and he continues to rot everything he touches. because he believes he has to.

You didn't talk to him much back then- only really knowing him because you were forced (yes, you!) to cohabitate with him while you found a residence in the harbor.

You were impetuous- not of faith and certainly not respectful, and it irked you massively when he'd step away whenever you greeted him, or silently turn his back on you and vanish. He didn't quite know how to articulate why without venting his frustrations to a stranger, so he never did.

He remembers you being violently sick during the colder months and still stubbornly trying to yank your bags out of a friend's arms, furiously sniffing and telling them you needed to do this.

Xiao knew for a fact you were diligent with your commissions- you liked Mora and you liked being comfortable. It couldn't be rent. He couldn't help but puzzle about it for hours, tucked away in the soft, cool damp trees on Wuwang hill until your shriek broke him out of his reverie.

After abruptly appearing before you (and scaring you more than half to death), as well as many hours of hunting the elusive herb made even more elusive by the chill, you had a nice basketful by evening.

“I wanted two,” he remembers you saying ruefully. He can't remember what you wore or even what you'd sounded like. Or if that was even what you'd said. But he remembers knowing you needed two basketfuls somehow, and you only had one, and your eyelids weighed down by disappointment, and the press of your lips.

He remembers putting a second basket in your balcony by dawn, and he remembers feeling a sudden rush of fondness when he found out you did it unexpectedly for a sick Baizhu, without his knowledge, expecting no fee. He remembers talking to you more when you lunged out of the shadows at Wangshu inn, to grab his arm and beam and thank him. He remembers the first time he touched you on his own- fingers gingerly reaching forward to pluck a piece of thread off your face. He remembers you disappearing for months on a long mission, only to return home and run straight into his arms, your newest glider fluttering on your back. Right there in his arms. He doesn't remember breathing. He remembers the way your fingers felt when they brushed against his in that moment, for the very first time. He remembers you asking if you could hug him, “just for a moment please,” and he remembers scoffing in surprise, then quickly saying yes.

But for the love of- god? Which god? He was a god and he didn't love himself too much. Morax? For the love of Morax, then, why couldn't he remember the things you liked?

He remembers everything you like and nothing all at once. Books? You have them. Brushes? Clothes? Would you even wear what he bought you? What if it wasn't your style? What if- maybe a bag? No, you never used bags you didn't buy. Something about the quality of the fabric. A handbag? Would you use it often? Probably not. Another glider? A glider made of his feathers, perhaps? Dear god no, that would be. Alarming. Snacks? You'd eat them. They're an addition, not the present itself. Furniture? A body pillow? You mentioned wanting a Ningguang body pillow. What the fuck is a body pillow?

He bites back the urge to throw his almond tofu at the wall. A gift for someone so precious must be one of equal value– but really, what could compare to your smiles, or the way you veered into him on walks, or the way you’d stumble to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Or your adorably frustrated expression when your cooking turned out not quite right? Every minute spent with you was spent carefully watching, memorising. He couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting even the smallest details.

He remembers his first gift to you- a silver hairpin, laden with heavy flowers of jade and quartz that chinked against one another at the slightest movement. He remembers the the way your eyes widened when you unwrapped it.

It frustrated him.

You were pleased with all his presents- you never seemed to prefer one over the other. The amulet he brought to protect you? With you in a pouch on every commission. The hairpin? You wore it on special occasions. The crystalflies he caught you on a whim were kept in a pretty glass container on your bedside table. You kept the flowers he brought you for months until even their potpourri turned to dust. What did you like better?

He swears by the skies he’s never been more frustrated- or desperate.

Your birthday draws closer by the minute and he’s determined to be the first to give you a present, even if it means… talking to people.

✦—————————————✦

He wishes Verr Goldet would stop looking so… Astonished. He knows he should be working! He’ll get to it right after he acquires your present… which would be?

“Perhaps- perhaps perfume?” she suggests, finally regaining composure. “They mentioned being fond of perfumes, although they usually don’t quite use it. Also…” She hesitates, then shakes her head with a smile. “It is good to see you home.”

He’s startled- he can’t help being so, not when she’s giving him such a sincere smile (that he unknowingly softly returns.) Strange mortal. Thanking her, he leaps off the balcony rails, unfurling wings of teal and gold. Perfume. Not the most inspired gift, but perhaps he’d come across something at the harbour?

✦—————————————✦

He does, unfortunately, come across something at the harbour. It’s an annoying little something (endearing on the days he feels more patient), slightly tall, vaguely maniacal. In a fun way.

Hu Tao has dragged him across every stupid stall on the northern side of the harbour. They’ve seen all sorts of absurd fish (even ones he thought were long extinct, good for them- or perhaps not, since they were soon to be a meal), clothes, china, children’s toys (he’s pretty sure you’d like the fat finch carving actually, so he gets it) and… perfume?

Hu Tao beams as she gestures to the man lounging in a corner of the harbour, asleep with an arm thrown over his wares. The wares happen to be several exquisite (regrettably empty) bottles.

He blinks. “Where is the perfume?”

“Huh? You want me to get you that, too?” A fly lands on her face and she swats it away. “I don’t really know where to get one you’d like. What sort of smells do you like? Can you even smell? I thought birds couldn’t smell?”

He sighs at the cascade of questions. “Some can’t, some ca- you digress.”

“Fine, but listen- aren’t the bottles so pretty?” She reaches for one and he’s forced to admit they are. The one in her hand is fashioned to mimic a gently sloped, round rock, with qingxin flowers acting as the lid. A bit unorthodox, but charming. “You can put whatever you want inside! Plus you told me you wanted a bottle of perfume, not a bottle with perfume-“

Well.

✦—————————————✦

That’s two gifts and neither is as he wants, nor perhaps as you’d want. He thinks back to the gifts you’ve given him- so intricate, so thoughtful. The best gift is still you, though, and the time he spends with you is enough to wash away years of anguish. When you fall asleep in his arms, the tension within him comes undone. This world has never treated him well, but its one benefaction was the vision hanging at your hip. He can’t help but trace it gently with his fingers, running his hands up and down your waist, so, so lightly. He’s grateful.

He wishes he could gift you even a fraction of the joy you bring him.

A whistle snaps him out of his thoughts. Yelan lowers herself to sit next to him on the cool stone steps going down to the harbour. Where did she come from? Was that blood-

“Soup. Tomato soup.” She pops the ‘p’ as she speaks. He can smell the blood. “No worries.” He does worry. She laughs when she sees his face. “It’s not mine, relax. What brings our hermit adeptus to the harbour?”

She reaches for the bag of purchases in his hands as he explains. “I’m here to get (Name) a present.” She turns the finch around in her hands, amused, and he continues. “I’m yet to come across anything significant. Do you have any… recommendations?”

Yelan tsks and stares at the hubbub below, deliberating. Xiao glances at the luxurious fur on her jacket rustle gently in the breeze and wonders how they ever became friends. His advent into the Chasm… well, he truly did think he would die, but he instead returned with closure and absurd company.

More or less anyway- Yelan is too busy to come visit frequently, but she’ll sometimes call him for no reason. To sample some dessert she bought, or to tell him a mundane story. He suspects it’s so she can keep an eye on his health. Sometimes, in his nightmares, he sees her stricken face when he teleported her out the Chasm, when she thought he’d never return.

“What are you thinking?” She raises an eyebrow. “It had better be something productive, not daydreams of (Name).”

“Those are productive,” he counters. “But forget it… suggestions?”

“Maybe jewellery?” She stands up and dusts herself off. “It’s a little cliché, but never a fail. And probably some perfume to put into that bottle… which I will go get, because… no. Actually, you should come too.” She grins.

✦—————————————✦

He’s never talking to Yelan again. The shop she suggested had some lovely ear cuffs, shaped like wings and flowers, clouds and daggers. Pretty. He got you a few pairs, which the shopkeeper seemed delighted about. Were they expensive, by mortal standards?

He peeks into the bag and watches them glitter through the glass case. Probably.

The thought of you wearing them makes him feel a bit lightheaded. You’re always at the very zenith of loveliness, so it always astounds him to see you turn more and more beautiful by the day. The ear cuffs would accentuate your charm wonderfully. He grins at the thought, then painedly coughs, recalling Ying’er. By Morax, she made him profoundly uncomfortable, then compounded that discomfort with every passing minute. Yelan found it hilarious and he admits, only to himself, he’d find it equally amusing if it was someone else in his place.

In any case, he now has a rather large bag of presents. A fat finch, jewellery, a pretty bottle containing gentle perfume extracted from the flowers of your hometown (he’s so proud of expertly dodging Ying’er’s questions on how he got them) and-? A coffin keychain?

He sighs and keeps it.

While he has all these offerings present for the god that reigns supreme in his heart… there is no centrepiece, no special present. When he asks Yanfei and Ping, they glance at one another and gleefully suggest a wedding ring, to which he gives a forceful no. He’d never want to make you celebrate two things in one day- after all, that’s one less day of merrymaking.

✦—————————————✦

Liyue Harbour looks so pretty in the night.

You remember a friend of yours telling you something once. Liyue Harbour makes you feel melancholy on the bad days, and warm on the good. She was right.

Sometimes, you have trouble deciphering what exactly it is that you’re feeling. And sometimes, you have trouble facing your feelings altogether.

As you trod through the gates facing Mt. Tianheng, you feel a pit softly open through in your chest. Inside of you, something stays deathly still, trying to ignore it, even as soft, powdery tendrils attempt to coax you inside.

It’s two in the morning, and it is also your birthday.

The shops and stalls are nearly all closed, with only some taverns open late into the night. They’ll close soon enough too, though. If you crane your neck enough, you know you’ll catch a view of the Pearl Galley, radiant and luxurious, a warm spot on the cool waves.

Sometimes Xiao walks you home after a long day. He’ll pause on the road while you receive your commission Mora from Katheryne, and you go take a walk along the harbour, buying groceries for dinner, him sighing as you find and inhale the unhealthiest snacks you can contrive, and scoffing when you offer them to him- even though there’s no force behind it.

And sometimes you sit on the edge of the port, watching the Pearl Galley take gentle laps around the port. Amusedly trying (and failing) to take a peek inside, wondering which socialite paid the lovely maidens aboard a visit.

But there’s no Xiao here today. He hasn’t visited in a while, and it’s your birthday.

You blink rapidly, eyes stinging. It’s okay. Birthdays happen every year and you’re not a child, you’re just tired after a long day.

“And besides.” You pat a stray dog as you walk past it to your home. “It’s so late. He’ll hopefully remember and wish me tomorrow?”

She answers with a whine and a wag of her tail. You chuckle.

“Stay right here. I’ll get you something.” You blow it a kiss, your temper buoyant once more. It’s so late, you can’t expect Xiao to-

“I already fed her.”

You nearly stumble (curse those mountains, your muscles are so goddamn sore) with how fast you whirl to face him. He’s right there, in soft, loose clothes. The lights inside the house come on as he gives your baffled face the smallest, softest of smiles. “Happy birthday, (Name).”

You bark a laugh as you rush into his arms.

✦—————————————✦

You’re not sure what exactly you did for this world to give you Xiao, the most beautiful of creatures, kindest of people, gentlest of hearts. You used to think his distance and clipped sentences were an armour worn to protect his jaded heart from the world. You were heartbroken yet skeptical when Wang Ping’an told you of it being the opposite- that he cares deeply for his people and is devoted to his duty. That he has much love to give, but never could on account of his karmic debt.

You don’t know what you’d do if not for your vision.

Xiao’s firm, calloused fingers softly massage your scalp. He offered to help you wash your hair when you mentioned being too tired and sore to do it on your own, so you’re now in your bathroom seated on a stool as he does it for you. One hand reaches down gently to prevent the foam from entering your eye as you ramble on about the day you’ve had. He frowns when you tell him you got nearly killed by a treasure hoarder, then looks almost impressed when he hears you befriended the schmuck.

“And he’s not a bad guy, really.” You boop his nose gently with a wet finger and it scrunches slightly. “He just didn’t have a choice, y’know? Anyway, I told him I’d help him get a job. He’s gonna stay over until he gets back on his feet, so be nice when you see him, okay?”

Xiao blinks rapidly. His eyelashes are so pretty. “Wait- are you certain you can trust him? Tilt your head back.”

You tip your head back and explain as he rinses your hair. “He’s just a kid, really. He’s new to this treasure hoarder schtick. And it should be fine, right? I’ll keep the valuables locked and let him have the guest room. Poor kid, do you think he’ll be able to wait on people? Maybe I could convince Chef Mao?

“He has his hands full with Shenhe.” Xiao snorts. “I don’t think he can take any more. Although if you want… I could take the child to Wangshu Inn with me. Perhaps he could assist Huai’an.”

You gasp in delight and beam at him. You swear you see his pupils dilate. “You’d do that for him?”

“For you.”

✦—————————————✦

Dinner was pleasant- all you could focus was inhaling anything and everything remotely edible present on the table. You were ravenous.

Even so, you couldn’t help but notice the anticipatory looks Xiao gave you, the little taps of his clawed fingers on the table. He didn’t say a word as you finished your meal. Just looked at you gently with those luminous golden eyes.

Stamping down your excitement was difficult despite your exhaustion. There was something Xiao was keeping under wraps, you could tell- he was just a bit unravelled, just the tiniest bit. Lips parted in slight anticipation, pupils dilated like a parakeets.

You look at one another across the table and he abruptly blinks and rises up, taking the dishes with him. Putting them in the sink, he turns to you slowly. You hear the dog bark at something outside, the clatter of her claws across the pavement but it feels as though she’s on land, with you underwater. When did Xiao get so close?

Your breath leaves you as his talon tipped fingers gently cradle your face, stroke your cheek. He laces his fingers with yours and brings them to his mouth for a kiss.

“Do you wish to rest?” He asks gently. As if he didn’t just rob you of your ability to form coherent sentences. “I had some presents prepared for you, but it’ll be morning soon. You ought to rest.”

Aha. So that was what he wanted to show you. He looks so shy at the mention of gifts- long eyelashes lowered, lips pressed together that you can’t resist beaming and landing a soft kiss on his cheek. He exhales.

“I want to see them now.”

He sighs, but he’s smiling, too. “Very well.”

He gestures for you to walk on ahead to your room and you do, sprinting across the hallway, invigorated at the prospect of- what.

Your bed is laden with presents.

It looks almost like an offering table- there are flowers interspersed among the gifts- an exquisite bottle of perfume is the first to catch your eye and you excitedly hold it to your nose. It smells like your favourite flowers. You turn to beam at him and he turns away, pink eared, and gestures to the rest.

There’s a coffin keychain (huh?), a fat finch carving the size of your face (you’ll cherish and protect that thing with your life), multiple small, velvety boxes with glass covers (you nearly scream. Is that the Mingxing jewellery crest? How expensive was this?) and something covered by a soft square of fabric, right in the centre.

It’s a feast for the eyes, you giddily think, taking everything in. You’ll definitely need to have a talk with Xiao about the expense- good lord, that ear cuff is embedded with three different jewels- but for now, you heart is so full you feel it’ll burst at the seems. And as you lift up the cloth to uncover what’s beneath, you’re very certain you’ll weep if you’re not too careful.

It's a box, made perhaps of wood, standing on elegant coral legs. With gems or resin or more coral, you can’t tell- there's a picture composed upon it, with you clinging to the side of a mountain before it, and Xiao right behind, holding out his fingers to receive what you hand to him. There’s the sunset too, behind both of you- a gorgeous mess of pink, white and scarlet, gold rays streaking across it, from the setting sun into the lavender dusk beyond.

It’s a bit roughly hewn, but it’s beautiful, and it’s yours.

It’s the day you really talked to one another for the first time, the start of something so precious to you that even the mere thought of losing it makes your heart physically ache.

You really are going to cry.

Turning to Xiao, you see the soft, anxious look in his eyes as he tries to gauge your reaction. He parts his lips to say something, but stops to let you go first. You shake your head and ask him to speak.

“I… am aware of it not being the best of presents.” (You wonder if he smacked his head into something today.) “It is… a box.” He coughs, glancing away, then faces you again and now you truly are in danger of bawling, with the way he’s looking at you. You bite your tongue and blink rapidly. Xiao gives you a rueful smile as he continues.

“I thought for a long time, but couldn’t fathom what you’d want most. I did not know what would constitute as a good present- but I remembered… when we first talked for length. Your unpaid commission. I’m grateful to Baizhu, for falling ill… I could never have dreamed myself capable of feeling such joy. Because of you.

“I just…” he trails off, eyes widening as the tears slip past your lashes, down your cheeks (traitors, they’re making such a fuss). He’s before you in an instant, cupping your face, drawing you closer, forehead pressed to yours. “I wanted to give you something to put your treasures in, where they could be safe. And I wanted to remind you… I will appear, no matter the circumstances, the moment you call for me.”

Your chest hurts.

“And,” he whispers, “if your burdens grow too heavy, simply turn around. Place them in my hands. I will carry them until you can once more. Just as you have done for me.”

And all you can do, really, is tell him you love him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping him in a giant embrace. He jumps, then laugh, large wings and slender arms wrapping around you.

It’s morning by the time you finally fall asleep, presents on one side of your bed and you on the other, after listening to Xiao recount his day at the harbour. You snicker at his conversation with the Boss, laugh when you hear of Hu Tao’s shenanigans, cackle hysterically when he shakes his head in embarrassment and tells you of his time spent with Ying’er and Yelan.

But when he tells you of his conversation with Ping and Yanfei, eyes softening, wings tightening around you- of the time he spent bringing the box into being, with their help and his very own hands- you can’t help but get teary eyed once more. Wrapping your fingers around his, you bring them to your mouth to kiss every fingertip, each kiss interspersed with a whispered “I love you,” that he returns with a quiet, fervent murmur of his own.

As you both begin to doze off in one another’s arms, you hear finches in the distance, awakening before even the dawn. You trace your fingers over his face, gently, gently and kiss his cheek.

You wish you could articulate what he means to you- and what his efforts meant to you.

His presents were nothing in the face of his company, and his company nothing in the face of his happiness.

More than anything, your heart is full at the thought of Xiao- free of his duties for even just a day, meeting with friends to contrive a present for you. That he spent time with them, amused himself with their shenanigans, fell prey to their mischief. That he had a mundane day at the harbour.

A merchant catches your wandering eye and is on you in an instant, voice warm and coaxing. “Traveler, this color would suit you perfectly,” she says, lifting a gown that was definitely woven by the ever-famousweaver of gold herself, all soft shadows and a subtle gleam. “Special price, only for you ;)”

You manage a polite smile, though your fingers twitch with the urge to touch the fabric. Focus. You need to get the damn food and groceries. You remind yourself of the purpose of this trip, even as your eyes linger a second too long.

“You’re not actually considering that, are you?”

The familiar voice slides into your ear with practiced ease, low and threaded with quiet amusement. You turn your head, already knowing who you’ll see.

"Cipher, I am not making you fish anymore."

Her gaze flicks between you and the dress with a teasing, knowing tilt of his lips.

“Weren’t you shopping for actual necessities?” she says, as though catching you red-handed in some failed robbery.

You fold your arms, feeling annoyed. “I was. Until someone decided to distract me. And, stop spying on me!!”

“Spying? Please. This market is a perfectly public place. I just happen to be better at moving around in it than you are.”

You narrow your eyes, turning back toward the merchant—who is now watching the exchange and has her eyes wide open like the classic gossipmonger pose. “I’m not buying the dress,” you announce, more to yourself than anyone else.

Cipher’s gaze lingers on it a beat too long. “Shame. You’d look good in it.”

"What do you want, Cipher?"

Before you even let her reply, you march past her before she can say anything else.

Luckily for you, you spot a vendor selling fresh fruit, you smile to yourself and quickly marhc towards the stall while ignoring the literal demigod of trickery following your back.

The stall keeper, a broad-shouldered man with a fake-saccharine face, smiles as you approach. “Looking for something sweet, traveler?” His voice is friendly but laced with the tone of a professional vendor. You are definitely going to buy much more than apples today.

“I’m here for the apples,” you say, trying not to sound like you’ve just been wandering aimlessly for half an hour...which you definitely have. "Something fresh and sweet, please, suitable for baking."

Cipher leans against the edge of the stall, looking utterly unhelpful. “She’s picky,” she tells the merchant, earning herself a swift and harsh elbow from you.

The merchant chuckles, pulling forward a basket of smaller apples with deep red skin. “Straight from the orchards, sweet, crisp, and good for baking!!”

You glance at Cipher, who’s already inspecting one. She bites into it without asking, crunch echoing loud enough to make the merchant wince. “Mm,” she says, mouth full, “good enough. Get a dozen.” You sigh. “I’ll take them,” you tell the merchant, fishing coins from your pouch. And you glance over at the collectibles stall again on your way out. Cipher notices, of course, that idiot notices. “Go on,” she says with that infuriating smirk, “buy the Phainon figurine. I dare you.”

"Shut your mouth, otherwise you will be down to 8 lives." “Don’t worry,” she purrs, already slipping her hand into her pocket, which you can't see. “I’ll buy that collectible for you, dear.”

Before you can even snap at her, she’s already flipped a coin high into the air, the metal catching the sunlight in a quick, sharp gleam before landing neatly back in her palm. With a theatrical swoosh, she turns on her heel and darts toward the stall. “Cipher—!”

Too late, loser.

The sudden rush of air from her mad dash whips your clothes against your legs, making you spin on your heel in surprise. You stumble, and you fall down on your ass. Your bag lurches in your grip, and the apples spill free, some bouncing on the street, rolling away/towards you, and one was up in the air, which was definitely about to hit someone on the head. The stall owner next to you jumps back, barely saving a stack of pottery from toppling, and looks down at you in worry, asking about your well-being.

You quickly get on your knees and start collecting the apples, internally cursing yourself and mourning your apples, ignoring the crowds' "woooos" and smirking faces. ughh why is everyone so mean? Cipher owes you a lot. And, speaking of Cipher, she noticed your mishap and quickly came towards you at lightning speed with a small paper bag containing that collectible you wanted, and then she unexpectedly picked you up along with your bags.

Anddddd...you are back home with all your bags and a small sticky note of a cat saying "you owe me, sweetie :3".

You groan out in annoyance, but you atleast got the Phainon collectible you wanted..

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Phainon was wandering aimlessly in the market, looking for a small yet simple trinket that you would like. His hands tucked behind his back, a faint, absentminded hum escaping him.

Silvers gleamed under the sun, rings, pendants, hairpins, but none felt quite right. He passed over delicate glass beads, ignored the polished stones wrapped in copper wire, and paused only briefly to inspect a wooden carving before shaking his head.

And then, something meets his eyes. A small silver necklace of a sword with a tiny pink gemstone embedded in the middle of the blade.

He reached out, letting the cool metal rest in his palm. The weight was light, but not fragile. Exactly the kind of thing he could picture you wearing without it ever feeling too much.

“How much?” he asked the vendor, with a widest smile on his face, everyone could practically see his tail and ears wagging left to right, with hearts floating around his head.

And before the vendor could even let the words out of his mouth,

WACK !!

The sharp thud made Phainon jolt, his ears (if they were visible) practically twitching straight up.

“Ow—what the—?!” He whirled around, one hand clutching the necklace protectively to his chest as the other rubbed the sore spot on his head.

At his feet lay the culprit: a slightly bruised red apple, rolling lazily in a small arc before coming to rest against his boot.

He followed the trajectory upward, just in time to see you, a few stalls away, scrambling to gather a mess of apples spilling from your basket. You were muttering under your breath, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

You looked so cute!!

Ancient Amphoreus tradition suddenly striked his mind like lightning as he remembered. An apple to the head meant a confession of love. A symbolic gesture dating back hundreds of years, and it was a pretty common occurrence. Once it had been done, the local vendors and people who had witnessed it would give gifts for the people who confessed to each other, if they had accepted each other of course..

And you… you had just done it.

He froze, necklace still clutched to his chest, mouth parting just slightly as his brain seemed to short-circuit.

…You loved him?!

A warmth spread through his chest, crawling up his neck until it settled in his ears

You, meanwhile, were kneeling on the street, gathering apples as fast as you could, entirely unaware that you had just, in Phainon’s mind, confessed your affection to him.

He took a step toward you, eyes sparkling, and the biggest goofy smile on his face. But.. suddenly a swift gust of wind came, slightly shaking Phainon's large form and...you were gone?

Phainon blinked multiple times to make sure he wasn't going downright insane from happiness.

The spot where you had been, basket, apples, flushed cheeks, and all, was now nothing.

His shoulders slumped, the necklace still dangling in his hand. “…Wait. Where is—?”

He craned his neck, scanning above heads, peering down the rows of stalls, but you were nowhere. The warm buzz in his chest sputtered.

The crowd had noticed.

A ripple of “ooooh~” spread like a wave. Some people leaned on their stalls just to smirk at him; others outright waggled their brows

“Ohhh, young love~” an elderly spice seller sing-songed, grinding cinnamon with entirely too much enthusiasm.

“She hit you with an apple?” a baker’s apprentice chimed in from across the aisle, grinning like an idiot. “Hah! Classic! That’s practically a proposal, you know.”

“I know,” Phainon groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I know what it means! But—”

A fishmonger cut him off with a delighted gasp. “Ah, you missed her?” He leaned conspiratorially over his counter, eyes glinting. “I saw it. Just before the wind picked up, a cat lady went up to her. Tall, and had a small paper bag with her. She said something, then, poof! Gone with her.”

Phainon’s stomach dropped. “Cat… lady?”

Several nearby vendors nodded in unison, and Phainon screamed internally, figuring out who she was.

Cipherrrr cmon whyy D:

“Mhm. Took your sweetheart right out from under your nose,” one woman said, barely containing her laugh. “But don’t worry, big guy. If she threw the apple, you’ve already won her heart !!”

Before he could respond, someone shoved a wrapped bundle into his hands.

“For you,” the merchant said with a wink. “Tradition, the apple was the confession, but gifts are for the couple. Don’t let her slip away next time.”

And then another shoved a small bag of candied nuts into his other hand. Then came a ribbon. Then a pouch of dried herbs. And then a bag of...Lubricant and Protection. “—for good fortune in love ;)”

By the time Phainon stumbled away from the market square, entirely flustered and processing what the hell just happened, his arms were full of goods, the necklace somehow still clutched in his grip. He looked like a husband buying goods for his wife.

"Aww...(Name) Where are you?!" He whined under his breath quietly.

Light spilled into your kitchen in a soft, honey-colored haze, painting the walls gold. The smell of dew and faint traces of yesterday’s fruit salad lingered through the open window. You’d been awake for a while now, sleeves rolled up, a knife tapping rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as you sliced vegetables for a stew.

Your mind wandered between the list of chores for the day and the small paper bag sitting smugly on your counter. The Phainon collectible Cipher had bought for you. You refused to admit it aloud, but it made you grin and giggle every time you looked at it.

You were just sliding a neat pile of carrots aside when you heard a knock against your wooden door. You put down the knife and walk towards the door to open it.

Your eyes widenedd after seeing the presence of your crush infront of you. at your damn house.

Phainon stood on your front step, broad frame haloed in morning light, silver hair a little mussed from the breeze, his face was a little red and sweaty, and his chest was heaving up and down in a concerningly fast rate as if he had run to your house at full speed. In his hand, gleaming in the sunlight, was the small silver sword necklace.

Before you could even open your mouth, he stepped forward and, without asking, lifted it toward your neck.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice unusually soft. The cool touch of the chain brushed against your skin, and the faint metallic clink echoed in the quiet. His fingers, warm, steady, lingered just a little longer at the clasp than necessary before he let the pendant fall against your collarbone.

You blinked at him, words half-formed. “...Phainon, what—”

He beamed. “Perfect. I knew it would suit you.”

Your brows furrowed. Your cheeks were burning up!!, He's so charming and adorable!, You had to stop yourself from kissing this man senseless and—

"I'll cook for you! :D" he said, stepping past you like he lived in your house. “Move overrr~”

You turned, still processing the whiplash of his arrival, as he rolled up his sleeves and set down what appeared to be a pile of goods, candied nuts, herbs, even a suspiciously small bag with the label hastily folded over onto your counter.

He started washing his hands, humming under his breath in that absentminded way he did when he was in a good mood. A very good mood.

You narrowed your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “You’re… being weirdly domestic this morning.”

“Am I?” he asked innocently, glancing over his shoulder at you with that boyish grin which made you thank god for letting you be born in this era to witness this god of a man. “I just thought you could use a good meal.”

The scent of fresh herbs began to fill the room as he worked. His movements were fluid, chopping onions with ease, dropping them into the pot with a satisfying hiss as they hit the oil. Every now and then, his gaze would flick to you, like he was admiring you (he was)

You shifted uncomfortably under the attention. “...You’ve never just shown up to cook for me before.”

“Guess I was overdue,” he said lightly, but there was something behind his tone, warmth that clung to every word.

When you moved to help, reaching for the cutting board, he stepped in front of you, blocking your path entirely. “Sit, I’ve got it!”

You raised a brow. “Phainon, I’m perfectly capable of—”

“Sit,” he repeated, this time softer but with that stubborn lilt that told you he wouldn’t budge.

So you did, And you had come to a conclusion that Mydei had defintiely taught this man to cook.

Your heart fluttered, and your mind was pacing around in confusion. But you were too much in bliss to really care.

The stew bubbled quietly, the scent growing richer with each passing minute—savory, warm, and extremely comforting. Phainon moved around your kitchen like a malewife, sleeves rolled high, hair sticking against his sweaty forehead as he leaned over to stir. His broad shoulders shifted with the motion, and you could hear the faint hum of some tune under his breath, the same way people hum when they’re completely at ease.

Except… Phainon wasn’t usually this at ease.

He sprinkled in a pinch of dried herbs, sniffed the steam rising from the pot, and gave a satisfied nod before reaching for the candied nuts and setting them aside in a small dish. His grin only widened when he caught you watching him.

“You’re staringgg :D!" he teased, tilting his head slightly.

You blinked, quickly looking away. “I’m just… surprised you can cook.”

“Oh?” He ladled a generous spoonful into a bowl, the steam curling up toward your face as he set it in front of you. “What, you thought I’d burn water?”

"You definitely would, Phainon!"

He only grinned wider, but didn’t explain. “Try it.”

You hesitated for a moment, then scooped up a bite. The moment the flavor hit your tongue, your eyes widened. It was perfect. The broth was rich but balanced, the vegetables tender without being mushy, every bite layered with warmth.

You swallowed, looking at him in disbelief. “This is—wow. Phainon, this is actually good.”

He chuckled, leaning a hip against the counter, clearly pleased with himself. “Glad you like it.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicion creeping in. “...Mydei taught you how to cook this, didn’t he?”

For the briefest moment, his smug mask slipped. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Yeah.”

The way he said it so softly and shyly made you squeal internally.

You tilted your head. “When? Because you sure didn’t have this kind of skill last week.”

“…Yesterday.”

You blinked. “Yesterday?!”

Phainon nodded, his grin returning but with a faint, almost sheepish warmth behind it. “Begged him, actually. Told him it was important. He stayed up half the night drilling me on it.”

You stared at him, spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Why would you go through all that trouble?”

His gaze softened in a way that made your stomach twist pleasantly. “Because you deserve good food.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your ears were heating. “You’re being weirdly nice today.”

Phainon’s grin turned almost mischievous at your flustered reaction. Without a word, he dipped the ladle back into the pot, scooping up another perfect portion. Then, he grabbed a clean spoon, blew on it a few times to cool it, and turned toward you.

“Alright,” he said in the most cheerful, singsong tone, “open up.”

You blinked. “…Excuse me?”

“Open. Your. Mouth,” he repeated, leaning closer and holding the spoon right in front of your lips. His silver eyes sparkled like this was the most normal thing in the world, like he wasn’t currently short-circuiting your brain.

“Phainon, I can feed myself—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” He wiggled the spoon closer. “You already said it was good, so I know you want more. Come on, be good for me.”

You froze. Be good for me?!

And before you knew it, you were leaning forward, lips parting just enough to let him slide the warm bite past them. The savory broth hit your tongue again, and despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t help the soft hum of appreciation that slipped out.

You swallowed quickly, trying to focus on the food instead of the fact that your crush had just hand-fed you like it was the most casual thing in the world. “You’re… unbelievable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said cheerily, already scooping another spoonful. “One more?”

You wanted to protest. You really did. But your mouth opened anyway. And Phainon looked way too happy for you to say 'no' to.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

After that kitchen incident, Phainon seemed to decide he’d found a new favorite hobby, and that was, spoiling you rotten.

It started small, the next morning, you found a neatly wrapped paper packet on your desk. Inside was a little pouch of lemon candies from a street vendor you’d mentioned liking once in passing. No note. Just a terrible doodle of a smiling sword.

And then came the handholding (p≧w≦q)

At first, you thought it was a one-off thing—he grabbed your hand while leading you through a crowded street, all bright smiles and endless chatter. But he didn’t let go when the street emptied. In fact, he squeezed gently and swung your joined hands. And when you glanced at him, his eyes were already on you, warm enough to make your chest ache.

The gifts got a little… excessive after that. Trinkets from the market. Your favorite snacks. A tiny glass bottle with preserved pink flower petals that matched the gem on the necklace he’d given you. Whenever you tried to protest—"Phainon, you don’t have to keep buying me things!" he’d tilt his head with that puppy-like smile and say, “But i want toooo :(”

And then, one afternoon, he appeared at your door, grinning like a madman unironically. “Come with me, (Name)!!”

“Phainon? Where?”

“You’ll see :D" He offered his hand, and took yours in his.

And then, you ended up at the training grounds. The air smelled faintly of metal and dust. Mydei was already stretching in the center of the sparring ring, looking up as the two of you approached.

"Hello, (Name)." Mydei said with that stern gaze of his before looking at Phainon and immeditely murmuring a "hks" under his breath which you and Phainon could clearly hear.

The two of them stepped into the ring, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. Mydei’s golden, claw-like gauntlets gleamed under the sun. Phainon hefted his claymore with that casual yet determined aura. (-9999 aura sorry)

A faint wind kicked up dust as they circled each other.

Mydei moved first with no warning, lunging in with a slash aimed at Phainon’s ribs. The claws cut the air with a sound like ripping silk. Phainon parried with the flat of his claymore, the force of the clash ringing out sharp and clear.

“You trying to impress my cousin?” Mydei gritted out, twisting for another strike more aggressive than he usually is.

Phainon’s laugh was amused. “Maybe. Is it working?”

He didn’t even glance away from the fight, but you could feel it—he knew exactly where you were standing. The next few exchanges turned almost theatrical: a wide, sweeping strike that sent sparks flying when Mydei blocked; a sudden pivot where Phainon caught his opponent’s claws inches from his face, smirking but lowkey in a pathetic way.

You crossed your arms, trying to hide your grin. He was absolutely showing off.

Mydei, however, wasn’t impressed. With a sharp feint to the left, he closed the distance in a blur, claws flashing toward Phainon’s shoulder. Phainon twisted, blocking with the claymore’s guard, then shoved forward hard enough to make Mydei stagger back a step.

“You’re slow today,” Phainon teased, rolling his neck.

“Or you’re just reckless,” Mydei shot back, eyes narrowing.

And jsut to piss off Mydei even more, Phainon ignores Mydei's words and gazed at you like a puppy waiting for their owner to praise them.

"Go Phainon!!" You gave in and chuckled to see the absolute happiness on his face and the dread on your cousin's.

By the end, Mydei was frowning, sweat beading along his jaw, while Phainon was grinning like he’d just won the match—even though it was pretty clear the match had been a draw at best.

“Show-off,” Mydei muttered, stepping out of the ring without another word.

Phainon flopped down on the bench just outside the sparring ring, chest still rising and falling from exertion. A bead of sweat slid down his temple, catching the light. You were about to comment on how dramatic he’d been when your hands moved before your brain caught up, grabbing a folded cloth from your bag and stepping toward him.

He blinked up at you as you leaned down, pressing the fabric gently to his forehead. “You’re… wiping my face?” he said, voice oddly soft, almost curious.

“You’re dripping sweat everywhere,” you replied quickly, focusing on dabbing at his temple, the bridge of his nose, the stubborn streak of damp hair clinging to his cheek. But it was impossible not to notice how warm his skin felt under your touch, or the faint hitch in his breathing that had nothing to do with the sparring.

The world felt strangely quiet. You could hear your own pulse in your ears.

When you stepped back to pull away, his hand moved—fast but unthinking and closed gently around your wrist.

Your breath caught, and you jsut freeze up accepting your fate.

He tugged you forward, not enough to throw you off balance, but enough to close the space between you until you were standing over him, his head tilted back to meet your gaze. His eyes were bright, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your throat tighten.

Then, almost at the same time, you both let out an awkward little laugh, breaking the tension like snapping a fragile thread. You stepped back quickly, and he let go just as fast, though his smile lingered, softer now.

“Thanks for the… uh, towel service,” he said, running a hand through his damp hair.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered, as you quickly took your bags and told Phainon how you were heading back home.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

You slipped into your home with that same warm, fluttery feeling still lodged stubbornly in your chest.

The first thing you did was toss your bag aside and head straight for the bath. Warm water washed away the dust from the training grounds, but not the memory of Phainon’s bright grin… or the way his hand had lingered on your wrist. You caught yourself replaying it over and over, cheeks heating as though the steam wasn’t enough to blame.

By the time you finished, you changed into your favorite fluffy pajamas—the ones dotted with little strawberries that Aglaea made for you as a birthday present. Hair damp, skin still faintly warm from the bath, you flopped face-first onto your bed. The soft covers welcomed you, but your brain refused to settle.

Instead, you rolled over and stared at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot.

You could still see the look he gave you—half smug, AAA he looked so handsome !!. And the way he fought in the ring? It wasn’t just sparring. He’d been showing off for you. For you.

You kicked your feet under the blanket like a lovesick teenager. Titans, you were acting like a lovesick teenager.

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, but you didn’t stop. You buried your face in your pillow, muffling the little giggle that escaped. You thought about all the little things—how he always found some excuse to hold your hand, how he somehow knew exactly what kind of gifts you’d like, how he looked at you sometimes like you were the only person in the world.

You exhaled into your pillow, heart doing that dangerous, reckless thing.

Yeah. You were gone. Completely gone for him.

You let yourself sink deeper into your bed, still smiling like a fool, drifting toward sleep with one last thought,

Yeah, I'll confess to him tomorrow <3

The next morning, you shot out of bed like someone had placed a thousand snakes on your bed.

You speed-ran your morning routine: face wash, toner, moisturizer, a touch of cherry-flavoured lip-gloss. You even reached for that one perfume you only ever wore on special occasions, light, fresh, just a hint of sweetness that made you feel like you were walking in a field of flowers.

You absolutely checked the mirror at least five times to make sure you didn’t look too obvious while still looking dangerously good.

The final touch sat waiting on your table: a small bouquet you’d put together yourself

This was it, No backing out now.

You reached for your teleslate, thumbs hovering over the screen before typing with shaky fingers:

You ♥: Hi Phainon!! Meet me at the Garden of Life in 10 mins :)

You stared at the message for all of half a second before pressing send.

Your heart started beating like it was trying to punch its way out of your chest. You placed the teleslate face-down, clutching the bouquet in both hands and jumping around in nervousness.

The Garden of Life wasn’t far, but on the walk there every step felt both way too long and way too short. The thought of him standing there, maybe curious, maybe smiling, made your stomach twist with giddiness.

The morning air was soft and refreshing, the weather was cloudy and not too cold, it was the perfect weather. The garden was quiet at this hour, dew still clinging to petals, the gentle trickle of the fountain echoing. You picked a spot just off the main path, where the blossoms framed you.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Phainon had been halfway walking around with the chimeras when his teleslate pinged.

He almost ignored it—until he saw your name

My lovely <33: Hi Phainon!! Meet me at the Garden of Life in 10 mins :)

For a moment, he just… stared. Then grinned. Then grinned wider. Then flopped backwards in his chair with the loudest, most crazed laugh that he had let out.

“Oh,” he whispered to himself, voice pitching up, “oh. Ohhh, this is happening—”

Without another thought, he leapt to his feet, almost knocking over his chair, and bolted down the hall in a blur of white and gold.

“Aglaea!”

The Demigod of romance herself looked up from her tea table, serene as ever, as she stirred sugar into her cup. Her expression didn’t change even when Phainon came skidding to a stop in front of her, looking like someone had set his heart on fire in the best possible way.

“Phainon,” she greeted smoothly like the silk she weaves, "What happened?"

He grinned so wide it made his cheeks hurt. “She asked me to meet her. Garden of Life. Ten minutes. TEN MINUTES, Aglaea. What do I wear? What do I smell like? What if my hair—”

“Breathe,” she said calmly, setting down her cup gently and looking up at him with the aura that would ease anyone down. “First, stand still before you run yourself into the ground.”

Aglaea quickly laid the outfit out with care, smoothing each crease before turning back to him. “Wash your face. Comb your hair. And use the sandalwood and rose fragrance—lightly.” Her gaze softened just a touch. “You want her to notice when she’s close enough… and you do want her close, don’t you?”

He nearly choked with an infuriating blush on his face. “Aglaea—!”

Her only response was the faintest smirk. “Shoes polished. No crumbs on your outfit. And… stand tall. You’re meeting your love, are you not? Let her see the true you and not a facade."

“And what’s that?” he asked, still grinning like an idiot.

Her smile gentled, all teasing melting into something fond. “A young man who’s very much in love.”

Phainon froze for a heartbeat—then laughed, giddy and light. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

By the time he was dressed, and a hint of perfume clinging to his collar, he was already halfway to the Garden in his head.

And if he was giggling under his breath the whole way there like some love-struck fool? Well. Aglaea didn’t say a word. But she did watch him go with the faintest, most knowing smile.

"May Mnestia bless you, Phainon."

Phainon came into view like he’d just run a marathon and somehow still looked like he belonged on thecover of a divine fashion catalog. His hair was just slightly mussed from running, cheeks flushed, that white-and-gold outfit crisp and perfect save for the way it swayed with every fast step.

“(Name)!” he called, breathless and bright, as though the world had narrowed down to you alone. “I—sorry—I came as fast as I—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You took one step forward, shoved the flowers into his hands, and blurted out, “I love you.”

Silence.

The birds kept singing. The wind still carried the scent of roses. Somewhere, a bee buzzed lazily past.

Phainon just stared at you. And stared. And stared. Like his brain had been replaced with static.

You fidgeted under his gaze. “…Phainon?”

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “…wait. Wait—what?”

You tilted your head, suddenly unsure. “I… said I love you?”

“Yes, yes, I heard that part,” he said quickly, clutching the flowers like they were now some kind of holy relic. “But-” His brows furrowed, his voice dropping into genuine bafflement. “Why are you saying it like it’s a confession?”

“…Because it is?” you offered slowly.

Phainon just stared. Then he tilted his head so far it was a miracle it didn’t snap off. “…You mean to tell me… you thought we weren’t already dating?”

Your jaw dropped. “We—what?!”

“Oh titans.” He slapped his forehead, groaning dramatically, pacing in a little circle. “All this time—walking you home, buying you gifts, holding your hand, inviting you to sparring matches, calling you my lovely, spending every waking moment with you—what did you think that was?!”

“I— I dunno! I thought you were just… really affectionate?”

Phainon stopped dead in his tracks, looked at you for three long seconds, and then let out the most exasperated laugh you’d ever heard. “You—! You adorable, oblivious—!” He dropped the flowers onto a bench, stepped forward, and cupped your face with both hands.

“You’re my girl,” he said firmly, almost like he was reestablishing divine law. “You’ve been mine and i’ve been yours ♥ The whole realm probably knows but you!”

You just blinked at him, stunned and blushing furiously, while his expression softened into that lovesick smile he always got when he looked at you. “But fine,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “if you want a proper start, then… I love you too. Officially. Again.”

His thumbs were still resting on your cheeks, the warmth of his palms cradling your face, when his grin widened into something boyish and almost too bright to look at.

“Okay but-” he leaned in slightly, eyes darting between your gaze and your lips like he was physically restraining himself, “-can I kiss you? Like… properly? Right now?”

The way he asked wasn’t smooth or calculated in the slightest—it was genuine, eager, like he's bouncing-on-his-heels excited.

You couldn’t even answer before he started rambling. “Because if you say yes, I swear I’m going to do it right here, right now, and probably never stop. I’ve been wanting to for so long and I thought I was already kissing you in all but name—oh Titans, I’m so kissing you if you—”

“Phainon.”

He stopped, blinking, tail wagging in an almost visible way despite him not having one. “…Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

He lit up like you’d just given him the sun itself. “Yes?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh Titans, yes—” He swooped in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was somehow both clumsy and perfect, like he didn’t know whether to hold you close or bounce in excitement. His hands slid from your cheeks to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and he laughed into the kiss, breathless and giddy.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go, resting his forehead against yours with the happiest grin you’d ever seen. “I’m never letting you live this down, you know. My girlfriend thought she wasn’t my girlfriend—oh, the teasing rights I have now.”

“Phainon—”

“Shhh.” He kissed your nose. “Just let me have this. You said you love me.” Another kiss to your cheek. "You're my girl now :D"

@noisy-seelie, @usagiarchive, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @santaluna i spent 6 hours on this