#galemail

He's unsure of what more to do to make that happen. He tries his best, every day. You're on his mind always. When he's resting high up in a tree, he notices the tender new sprigs at the very top, with smooth stems and translucent leaves that prettily filter the sunlight into pale yellows and greens. 

When you return home after a long day, you smile upon seeing them arranged in a vase by the window, but much to Xiao’s dismay, there's no sun to shine through them by evening, and the moon is entirely too tender to even try.

You're persuaded to eat a little, but soon after, you kiss him goodnight.

The following weeks are agonizing. He knows what it's like, to be helpless against your own mind– perhaps better than anyone. Watching you experience it for yourself though brings forth the keenest sort of helpless agony he's felt only in the past, long ago, when he watched family and comrades fall prey to themselves.

And so when Xiao chances upon the sweetest sight– a bloodred sunset so violently coloured that it makes him feel almost claustrophobic, he's quick to appear by your side and beg you to come along to Wangshu Inn, to view it from the topmost balcony. 

You smile at that, too, but kiss him once again, and tell him you've just had an incredibly long day. Perhaps some other time. 

He persuades you to eat a little before you once again bid him a tired good night.

Xiao learns then that there's just some things he cannot help you escape. 

This goes on for some time– your beloved attempts to lift your spirits, but either his attempts fail, or you're simply too weary to humour them. Watching him struggle to help fills you with guilt– a twisted sort of irony. There's no escaping this– you can try your best, but you're a slave to the darkest recesses of your mind, and so one day, you pull him closer to you in bed to quietly apologise.

You expected him to tell you it was alright– you expected him to comfort you.

What you did not expect was for him to grow angrier with every word that fell out of your lips. What you didn't expect was for him to, for once, cut you off and tell you– that he loves you, and that for you, he's willing to bear every helplessness this world has to offer.

That for you, he is always willing to try.

✦—————————————✦

Xiao keeps his promises.

Even in the worst throes of your depression, Xiao is ever present with a grounded candidness that quietly tells you he could do this forever.

Xiao, for his part, has come to understand your situation a little better.

It wasn't just that you were sad. It was that you… weren't. You just… weren't anything. Not angry, or happy, or eager. You were swathed in overwhelming, sticky melancholy. It seemed to want to consume your very existence, quietly swallowing any and every enthusiasm for life. You could fight it for only so long, cry out only so much before running out of breath, before it covers your eyes, your nose, your lips. Before it swallows your senses whole.

He marvels at your ability to remain, even as powdery envy and anger and irritation come sit and cling to you, aided by your viscous, sticky sorrow. He wonders at your ability to eat in the face of it barely tasting, to sigh in the face of barely feeling. He doesn't know how he's ever to stop admiring you when you're stuck battling yourself invisibly, seemingly every waking moment. When you sleep for hours upon hours to escape reality, he lays soft kisses upon your hands as you rest.

Of course– that's never the end of it, or just the extent of it.

He sees you being careless with yourself sometimes, punishing yourself so quietly even you never notice. You deprive yourself of the smallest joys, for fear of the longer steps needed to reach those pleasant moments. 

You shut yourself in, going outside only for the barest necessities. It pains him when you tell him there's no point, that you'd just come home even more tired than you usually are if you step out to meet friends or family– when he knows that it would still be a welcome change of pace to break you out of your monotony. 

He finds excuses to help you instead. Brings you to the Inn for meals, tells you he'd love to see the recent productions put forth at the Opera. It's rare to see Xiao pleading, so after the first few times of saying no, you sigh and accept.

Xiao is pleased to see you smile a little, and talk about it on the way home. When you're a tad bit careless about watching your step, he takes your fingers in his. When you walk a little nearer to the railing than he'd like, he wraps an arm round your waist to keep you close.

✦—————————————✦

For your part, you find it difficult to indulge in bad habits with Xiao around.

He's a god, eagle-eyed. He's quick to spot anything you might use to hurt yourself, and dispose of it faster than you can blink. It infuriates you a little– when there is nothing else that reaches you beneath several dark layers of suffocating indifference and pervasive sadness, even hurt was welcome. Soft hands find it exponentially harder to wipe away the darkness that a blade can simply cut through. Sure, you bleed, but at least that way, you feel.

The first few times it happens, you swallow your anger. He's just looking out for you– he just doesn't want you to hurt yourself. But, Archons, you're tired and weary of knowing the sun is beating down on you and still not feeling its warmth. You're tired of eating the most vibrant meals your beloved can offer and still tasting ash. You're tired of feeling tired and nothing else, every waking moment.

And so when he rips away your hurt from you one too many times, a wisp of smoky anger ignites something suffocating in your lungs and you raise your voice at him, in tears. You just wanted to feel.

Xiao says nothing.

He's silent in the face of your diatribe, and when you cover your face with your hands and apologise, he peels them gently off. He kisses your fingertips. He finally, finally understands what you mean when you tell him– that no matter how difficult it gets, it is harder to not love him than it is to love him. He reminds you of that conversation, and as he wipes away your tears, he tells you he feels the same.

✦—————————————✦

On the days that you're a little more receptive to his persistence, Xiao is ecstatic. He takes every advantage, and truth be told it does help a little.

It's hard to feel ugly when Xiao drags you to Qingce and, when you look out to the lovely farmlands swathed below, you catch him looking at you instead. It's hard to loathe yourself when some children ask the gentleman who he's walking with and he answers by raising your interlocked hands, when he tells them in his old-fashioned way that you're his beloved.

When they make fun of him for it, you can't help but laugh, and when you catch a glance of yourself in the reflection of a window, and find yourself so… present. Here. Perhaps this is what Xiao sees when he looks at you– alive and dynamic and present. Standing beside him with your head thrown charmingly back. You don't see it, but the stranger in the window makes you understand it a little. Even if you can't see it for yourself, you allow yourself to quietly acknowledge that it may be true. That someone else may savour the same food that tastes like ash to you.

It's hard to feel stupid when on those rare days, you find it in yourself to take up cleaning, or cooking, or picking up an old hobby. Xiao is endlessly annoying– he's your beloved, wicked guarantor, making sure you follow through with most of what you pick up. 

The strain of having to finish something, or at least do the activity in parts that leave you satisfied, is hard. People tell you it's the beginning that's difficult, but you've learned by now that the middle part is also garbage, and Archons, you swear wrapping up a project is the most difficult task of all.

When you irately tell Xiao this as you take a bite of your food, made hungry by your labour, all he does is pile more onto your plate.

✦—————————————✦

Of course– progress is never linear.

Some days you backtrack. Sometimes, you lack even the strength to crawl out of bed. When Xiao finds you in bed by afternoon, tired still after several hours of rest, he seats himself next to you and strokes back your hair, smoothing out the tangles made greasy by days of exhaustion. 

He doesn’t mind. It’s an easy excuse to be affectionate– he gets to seat you in the bathroom and wash your hair, twisting it round his fingers, massaging your shoulders and scalp.

When you apologise for the trouble, he frowns. It’s no trouble, he tells you. Not when you’ve done far more for him. 

Not when he loves you.

You ask him for his name.

He whispers it to you just before he sinks his teeth into your neck, just before he drags you under.

You lean over to show him something on your phone, but all he can look at is your palm braced against his thigh, your nails brushing his tented crotch. His breath stutters.

Please, he thinks. Please. But he does not say it. Yet.

When you finally turn to him with mischief written all over your face, though, he presses his lips to yours. And when you kiss him back with a fervor, he takes your palms in his and braces them against his chest.

Tugging you up onto his lap, and tearing up at how good it feels to have your crotch flush against his, he braces a hand against your ass, the other splaying against your back. Your breasts arch towards his face.

Looking up at you through them, flushed, teary eyed, he rasps— "please."

Sizzles just give him what he wants sob, he's so cute. And I'm sorry for what this turned into LMAO, I meant to post hcs but clearly I'm itching to write SJSJS.

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.