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The child was small, and young— made to do truly horrid things at that ripe young age and although Morax was not the most sympathetic god, he was far from heartless. He took the child, hands still bloody from killing his master and gave him a new name. Xiao.
Xiao finds Morax strange.
He has traveled with the archon for a while now, chasing his long wip of hair and the fluttering of his white robes that somehow always remain crisp and clean.
He always smells like herbs and rust and sometimes he settles down on the ground tentatively close to Xiao, never quite touching him and offers him a warm cup of tea.
It’s bitter and sugarless because Morax doesn’t carry anything with him as he roams.
Xiao has watched him fight, he’s better than anyone Xiao has seen, a martial god and a contract god all rolled into one deadly combination of swift polearm strikes that leave the air screaming and the enemy red. Xiao helps, sometimes but Morax has admitted to having other plans for him. He ghosts his hand somewhere near Xiao’s shoulder as if he is trying to be reassuring yet too cowed to truly be.
Xiao tires of this rather quickly, he tires of Morax frightening away from laying a single touch on him, tires of his hand hovering just slightly above his shoulder as if he thinks Xiao is weak, as if he thinks Xiao will shatter like the glassy dreams that he used to eat, pounding away at the heads of sleepers and causing rippling shatters, crystalline and breakable.
Xiao is not breakable.
So in a gamble to prove himself Xiao carries out one of Morax’s commissions early in the morning before the archon wakes.
All by himself.
And Xiao is not weak, and he is not breakable.
When he gets hit he does not shatter like glass at the contact but instead his skin peels away revealing red and it oozes but he does not break.
He wants to yell,
Don’t you see? He wants to say.
The hit as rough as ever has not broken him open and apart and it is red and wounded and throbbing, and he gets hit and slashed again and again and he is still not broken.
Perhaps he gets distracted because one moment he is standing in the encampment, fighting back weapons of all sorts, the sun barely cresting the sky and the next moment he is somewhere else.
“Xiao.” And Morax rarely sounds upset like this. He isn’t the easiest man to read and Xiao himself isn’t the best versed at social norms and constructs. Morax clenches his jaw in seemingly anger and Xiao immediately draws back, mind flipping through ways he might appease the man because he made him angry— why would he— what could he do!?
“Xiao.” And his tone was fierce. “Calm down.” Of course a being such as he saw the slight panic and was aware— Xiao couldn’t do anything right could he? A hand came towards him and Xiao resolutely stayed still when in reality all he wished to do was to flee.
It settled lightly on his head, warm and gentle. “It is alright Xiao. Calm down.” After a prolonged silence, Morax spoke quietly and a bit awkwardly. “Did I- scare you? I am, I am very sorry.”
But Xiao had failed? Why would Morax be sorry? It was Xiaos fault- wasn’t that why he was angry??
“I was— not angry at you.”
“You where not?”
“I was angry at who hurt you.” Morax’s tone had that familiar rage again but he assured Xiao that it was not towards him. “I-“ Morax struggled “you are— valuable.” Morax actually visibly cringed at that. “I, I wish you to be unharmed. I am— upset. At those who harmed you. Not at you.”
“Okay.” Xiao is a whisper. And then, as adrenaline still runs through his veins he squares his jaw. “I am not breakable, you know. I can do things. Can service and aid you.”
“I will need your help.” Morax says, hand hovering again, but Xiao still remembers it warm on his hair. “Soon, in the future. I promise you Xiao I know you are strong and I have plans for you.”
Indeed he does, it’s not even a year later and Xiao is introduced to the other Yaksha. Morax departs much more often after he leaves Xiao with the Yaksha.
Xiao only sees him erratically throughout the years.
2.
Xiao remembers meeting Guizhong, she looks at him tiredly.
Morax is the one that brings him to Guizhong. “This is Xiao.” He says hand hovering near his back as if to push him forward, but as usual Morax doesn’t touch him, only lets his warmth announce its presence. Guizhong is bright, eyes on Morax shining with light and then she’s crouched in front of him, even though she herself is rather short and smiling sweet and warm.
“I’m Guizhong!” She says, and at first Xiao thinks she must be special because she is not like the other Gods worn from the seemingly endless archon war. “It’s nice to meet you!”
“She is important to me.” Morax says, also leaning down near Xiao’s ear. “Be civil.” He’s never asked for such a request and when his presence retreats Xiao attempts to be respectful to the Lord of Dust in front of him.
She shows him her discoveries and creations and Xiao nods along feigning interest. When their little tour is done Xiao makes eye contact with her for the second time. Without Morax there her eyes are dull and tired. Her smile, more forced.
She had looked at him tiredly and that is what he remembers.
Bonanus dies first.
She had reminded Xiao of Guizhong, bright in the attention of Indarias, the pyro Yaksha seemingly lighting a spark in the shy yet bubbly Hydro Yaksha that tiredness pervaded. When she had met Xiao she had burbled and smiled like the brooks near the caves that Xiao occasionally collected flowers from, her smile had been wide and she had twisted a lock of his hair around a thick black and blue claw.
When Indarias left on a mission; the taller, warmer woman giving Bonanus a fierce kiss on the cheek, Bonanus’s energy left with her, blue eyes appearing more grey with melancholy. She looked at Xiao with a listless exhaustion that none of Bosacius’s teasing seemed to alleviate. She dies before Indarias returns.
Bonanus’s death leaves a hole, a gaping oozing wound.
Xiao was taken in by Bosacius, the older Yaksha promising to take care of him and he had, Bosacius and Xiao were close, and Xiao and Indarias sparred often together and Menogias was there whenever Xiao foolishly missed Morax (bringing tea and books and a casual touch Morax never seemed to allow). But Bonanus and Xiao never sought each other out.
And yet he found himself saddened by the loss, not understanding because logically he hadn’t known her as the others had, hadn’t braided hair and gossiped with as Indarias and Bonanus had, hadn’t pranked and schemed giggling softly as Bosacius had with her and hadn’t read to her, because Bonanus hadn’t been able to read by herself, claws ripping through the thin pages of books but Menogias had loved to read to her.
He had, however, known her; remembered meeting her and her smile, had felt her presence around them, remembered her twisting his hair (he had hated that) her tiredness that he understood and her bubbling little giggle.
When Morax comes Indarias is furious with him, it melts quickly when she sees he too is mourning, not as obviously as they, but the defeated air that hangs heavy around him is not one they are familiar with.
He speaks softly which is also uncharacteristic. “I am sorry.” He says and all the fuel to Indarias’s fire slinks away as she melts, her anger hot and furious but only a matchstick, burnt and charred to a stub.
He takes Indarias with him on his next journey. When he returns he has tea with Menogias, afterwards Menogias leaves with a tight smile that Xiao doesn’t understand. Bosacius refuses any form of comfort from the archon so Morax attempts no such thing.
He sets his sights on Xiao instead.
“Xiao.” He says softly and Xiao hates the softness, can feel it spoil in his tongue like the rotting tofu he had been served once. “Are you well?”
“Yes.” Says Xiao. Flatly. “Karmic debt has been… manageable.”
“That is not what I am inquiring about.”
“Oh?” Xiao keeps respect in his tone, ensuring it’s there no matter how thin spread he feels. “What is it you wish from me?”
Morax’s mouth purses he almost seems disappointed. (Xiao hates that he quails from it even now)
“Nothing.” Morax decides on, “nothing.” He repeats again. “I just… wish you well.”
Xiao can’t tamp down the incredulity in his expression and Morax leaves shortly their conversation dying quite quickly after that.
Bosciaus appears after Morax leaves, four arms not hesitant to pull on him, and take him close like Bosciaus will shield him and the world with his brawn.
3.
After Guizhong dies Morax grabs hold of Xiao with a grip that is painful.
He brings Xiao places merely to watch slaughter, Xiao stands on the sidelines as the archon deals with poorly handled grief and loose power, the archon rarely cares about the contracts he gets anymore he doesn’t refuse the violent, bloody and senseless.
He doesn’t care .
Xiao has the feeling if any of his opponents were to get a lucky hit he would leave a grudge so powerful the rest of his Yaksha would die trying to fix it.
And when Morax drags him further and further, never ceasing, dragging Xiao along hand so tight between the slope of Xiao’s neck and shoulder Xiao hears his muscle wheeze and his bones groan.
And although Xiao has been offended by Morax’s hovering touches he craves them now, not this insane desperate hold.
It’s night. Xiao sits near the fire they have built and watches Morax’s eyes, restless flick around them like creatures will form from the shadows.
“I’m leaving.” He informs his mentor, his savior, his family. “Tomorrow, I’m going back to Bosciaus and helping clear the land we decided of Miasma, cleansing it of its grudges and demons.”
Morax’s eyes pin on him now, glowing like lanterns feverish almost. Xiao hates this. He doesn’t want to see someone he respects like this, a mess. He's worried it will diminish his view of him and he hates standing by sidelines like something breakable.
“Why.” Morax’s voice sounds wrecked, he hasn’t so much as talked to Xiao and Xiao thinks he understands why now.
“Why am I here? I cannot do what your Yaksha are supposed to when I’m here.”
“I need you here” Morax answers, sullen in his usual tone of quiet command yet it rasps and his eyes are wild, hands clenched like he will forcibly hold Xiao back, and Xiao knows, if the God truly asked him to stay he would, he would do anything that this god asks of him even if it burns him, like his previous.
“Why?“ Xiao asks again, softer this time. Morax doesn’t answer, but a muscle in his jaw ripples as he clenches his teeth so hard Xiao knows if he were mortal they would be rendered dust. “I will stay if you wish me to but I-“ Xiao hesitates, he is never this open, he is always reverant and polite and obedient unquestionably so of Morax, but the rawness around his archon makes truth seem more valuable than Xiao knows it to be. “I like to be of use and the other Yaksha need me. So I would like to at least query as to why you need me, Morax.” He pauses, looking down, he doesn’t want to see those feverish eyes on him. “You don’t need anyone as we do.”
“Guizhong is dead.” The voice is small and wrecked and Xiao studiously keeps his eyes on the ground. “She is dead and I was not there, and you are wrong.” The archon's voice splinters. “I loved her, and I needed her.” His voice twists and shatters at his decoration of love, like it’s been pulled from him harshly and violently, leaving wounds that will never heal, digging into his rasping aching throat.
“I’m sorry.” Xiao offers but Morax brushes him off, stomping forward, hands finding Xiao’s shoulders and clamping down on them, Xiao looks up instinctually, Morax’s eyes are glassy.
“I don’t want this— I don’t want you -“ his voice is garbled like he’s swallowed rock (Menogias had done that once, just to see) “I don’t want to return and find you laying there.” His voice is suddenly loud and then quiet again, a whisper. Like saying such a thing is going to cause this outcome of grief. “I cannot lose another who I— cherish .” He spits cherish like a curse and Xiao attempts to draw back from the raw fury Morax is radiating but his hands are still on his shoulders and he can’t-
“I cannot do what you wish me to do if I stay with you Morax.” Xiao tries to keep his voice sympathetic, he understands the loss Morax feels, a bit, he would end his own life if Morax ever died. “And no one can guarantee the safety of others but I swear to you I will do my best to not die anywhere but at your side.”
Morax releases him, hands easing off, mourning already in his eyes.
Xiao looks back down, the trees creak.
When he looks back up Morax is gone.
Xiao returns to the other Yaksha. Bosciaus inquiries after Morax’s wellbeing.
“He is well.” Xiao answers shortly.
“And you?” Bosciaus questions, like he isn’t the one they are all worried for. Indarias even gives him an annoyed look from where she sits.
“I am fine.” Worried, he doesn’t say, and confused. Because while he cares endlessly for Morax Morax had admitted to…cherishing him. It had felt, despite the situation— light and full of awe because Xiao would follow him to the ends of the world and never expected any kindness or care to be returned and yet he said he cherished Xiao.
“You seem happy.” Bosciaus has a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it gently with his thumb, Xiao’s shoulders always feel small in his hands. Bosciaus is larger than even Morax. “I’m glad.”
“Happy?” Xiao tsks, “we have work to do Bosciaus.”
“Talk to me Xiao! I want to know what I need to do or say to make you glow like you are now!” His two back arms wave animatedly and Bosciaus has that firm smile on his face.
Xiao knows Bosciaus loves him, Bosciaus loves everyone, loosely and passionately, but mostly he loves his Yaksha. And because he is feeling stunningly vulnerable and a bit out of character, he lets the Leader of the Yaksha get a small glimpse of how important he is despite Xiao’s protests.
“You do enough.” He says. And he says it like an insult but he knows Bosciaus will take it like it is. As a compliment of respect.
Bosciaus beams.
Xiao rolls his eyes.
He is loved by Bosciaus and cherished by Morax.
That is so much more than he ever thought he would receive.
Morax. Or is it Zhongli now, tells Xiao of his plan, of the death he will fake.
He delivers the news off hand and Xiao is under the impression that the Archon remembers Xiao’s vow to lay down his life if ever Morax perishes. Zhongli emphasizes the fact that Xiao should remain and protect the city even as Morax retires.
Xiao has known Morax for a very long time and when they next meet Morax is going by Zhongli and he runs a funeral parlor, he meets the man after Osial nearly floods the city and his hair is still dripping with saltwater.
“A test.” He says. And it’s not a question, he knows it’s the last of Morax’s sharp conniving wit. And as strenuous as it is he mourns it.
“One you delivered well upon.”
“You gave it away didn’t you? Your gnosis.”
“Yes.” Morax— Zhongli , smiles softly, he doesn’t seem weak, even without it, Xiao can sense his solid steady presence and it slides around him like a heavy blanket. Familiar and comforting.
“Why do you want me here?”
“I wanted to ensure that you were well.” Zhongli smiles again, they are small, barely a lift of his lips and yet he does them so much more often than Xiao has ever seen, he seems relaxed and at ease and distantly Xiao is bitter at how at peace he seems.
“You don’t need me any longer, grudges are less and you have that Ginger Harbinger to accompany you wherever you roam.” Xiao can’t keep the disgust from his voice, the disdain.
Morax draws back, eyes widening slightly.
And then, to Xiao’s shock, he lets out a small laugh.
It’s short and brief and a bit rough but it is undeniably a laugh and Xiao knows he’s gaping now because he has never heard Morax laugh before. Part of him warms like the best tasting dreams and he feels fulfilled. Another part of him feels bitter yet again, at how easily Morax can discard his past, can discard Xiao .
Had he not served him well? Does he not still serve him well?
“Childe?” Zhongli’s eyes sparkled. “Yes that is true I would indeed enjoy a travel with him, I’m sure it would be very…energetic, but Xiao.” There’s that amusement again, stark and astonishing. “You are irreplaceable to me, I…” he breathes “I…”
“Yes?” Xiao prompts gently, because Morax sometimes forgets he’s talking to people.
“I lo- I loath to think where I would be without you, you have been with me for centuries, decades even and I care deeply for you and I will always wish and hope for your well-being. I want to continue to see you well and happy.”
“I am not happy often.”
“I know my loyal Yaksha.” And there’s grief in his tone.
He had called Xiao his last Yaksha before, a title that hurt, a title that both Xiao and Morax had drawn away from, reminding Xiao of the last days where it was just he and Bosciaus, but Bosciaus was warped now into something he never was and Xiao feared madness and debt would steal him away like it had Indarias.
“You still wish to see me then?” It’s meeker than he likes.
“I will call out to you whenever I wish to see you, and I will try to repay your visits with almond tofu.” He smiles gesturing to the plate in front of him and…of course. It’s almond tofu.
“The only good thing Mortals have contributed.” He says petulantly and he unwraps the careful knots. The smell greets him immediately and Zhongli watches him, fond.
“I am glad you like it.”
They talk easily now, Zhongli inquiring after his well-being yet again, as Xiao devours the Almond tofu in front of him.
“And your ginger?” Xiao inquires, lip curling “That Mortal is the companion you have chosen?”
“Xiao. No need to get protective.”
“I am not.” He is going to pin that pathetic mortal beneath him and glide his polearm along his throat; he needs to ensure his devotion to Morax. “He will die, you know, rather quickly.”
“I needn’t think of his death before I’ve even lived a life with him.”
Xiao blinks at that, putting down his chopsticks and eyeing the man, both so familiar and different- “you…plan to live a life with this-man?” He thinks he has hidden the disdain in his words, Zhongli’s disapproving glance tells him otherwise. He picks up his chopsticks again just to stab his plate with them. “Why!?”
“Because, Xiao.” And now he’s sad and Xiao hates when he’s sad. He’s such a desperately sad man, he grows clingy in a forceful way and a mania Xiao shivers at always makes an appearance in hawk like eyes, his grips grow firmer and he makes the air around him heavy and aching, because the mourning of a mountain causes the mourning of all its people. “I am not as great a being as you think I am, and perhaps my true form should fit what I am— Just a man, one who makes mistakes and can afford to, who loses and loses and hates it .” The last words are dangerous for an archon although Xiao supposes he isn’t one any longer, and then perhaps that is why he can say whatever he wishes.
“I- sympathize.” He breathes. “But even now, you aren’t a mortal Zhongli- you’re an adepti still and-“
“I have lived long.” Zhongli cuts in, and Zhongli rarely does that, he doesn't interrupt Xiao, ever. It was quite disconcerting. To be listened to so avidly by a being that needn’t heed a word he ever spoke yet did so anyways. It always made Xiao feel cherished—and Morax had indeed admitted to cherishing Xiao (Xiao hoped it was still true) “I erode still, it’s much slower than most- similar almost to the aging of mortals, and I don’t want to be an archon when my mind leaves me.”
“Why did you not tell me?”
“Why speak of something unchangeable? Why worry you with things you need not concern yourself with.”
“I.” And Xiao chokes on his words.
He loves this man, with all of his being, he sees him as a mentor, a friend, a father— this man is brilliant and kind, merciful to even Xiao, loyal and so very strong. He’s the epitome of a god, the other archons pale in comparison, to this glorious beacon of hope for above. And yet, with all of his intellect and wonder he does not understand people.
He does not understand that any manner concerning him— no matter how ‘unimportant’ he may deem is so valuable to those who call him close.
In a sudden burst of sympathy Xiao wonders how the Ginger Harbinger fairs against this wise yet clueless man.
“I would like you to meet Childe.” Zhongli says almost reading his mind when Xiao cuts himself silent.
Xiao doesn’t want to do that.
“Fine.” He hisses. “When?”
It’s much too soon.
Zhongli departed, smiling still in a bit of a worried way, eyes liquid and gold. He makes Xiao promise to be here Tomorrow, and to at least try and be civil. Please.
Xiao dislikes it when Zhongli plays meek, he agrees readily if only so Zhongli can stop acting so strangely hesitant. It’s not as if his relationship with the Harbingers hinges on Xiaos approval, and as discontent as it makes Xiao, Zhongli can be with whomever he wants, mortal or not.
So he’s there, the next day, schooling his face into a passive blankness, keeping the pull of his teeth at bay, if only to do as Morax wishes, as he’s always done.
He can’t quite help himself from narrowing his eyes at the harbinger as he approaches.
“Hi!” The ginger says. “I’m Childe! It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard lots—all good, I promise.” He’s nervous, and Xiao can’t pinpoint why, it’s not a trepidation towards violence, or a fear towards facing an adepti, Xiao can taste his bloodlust from here, it saturates the air sickeningly powerful and he wrinkles his nose.
“And you.” Xiao inclines his head the bare minimum for a greeting. (Menogias is shaking in his grave, somewhere at the lack of formalities) Childe’s smile twitches but remains.
“Zhongli said we should talk.” Childe admits, shifting now after a moment or ten of silence. Xiao was content with it just staring the increasingly twitchy mortal down.
“Did he?”
“Yes.” The ginger straightens now, eyes locked on him, Xiao hates how tall he is. “I— I really like your dad Xiao—“
“ What -“
“What?” Childe blinks, face going from serious and firm to anxious and confused in a second.
“He is not my…father.” Xiao doesn’t know why saying that irritates him so much why everything feels eerily delicate and useless.
“Oh.” Childe blinks. He looks surprised. “I- really? Does he know that?”
“Zhongli is aware he is not my father, what is this line of questioning!?”
“I-“ Childe stops. Shaking his head after a moment, a truthful smile on his face. “He really cares about you, that's all. Sorry if I offended you.”
“I’m not offended.” Xiao bristles. “What was it Zhongli wished us to discuss?”
“Care for a bite while we talk? Zhongli told me you like almond tofu, it’ll be on me.”
In the end they don’t talk much.
Xiao still dislikes the Harbinger, he still ended their meal by drawing his polearm and pointing it at the man's throat. But instead of all the things he wants to say, the vitriol, the threats, the innate aggression he has to mortals like this who pillage and fight and leave foolish curses upon the land all that comes out is:
“Be well to him.”
Zhongli has a new companion now, and as much as it aches, Xiao isn’t surprised. As long as the man is happy he shall find a way to be content.
Childe’s promise of doing so, small smile that looks much like understanding — and presumption- on his face, softens the edge to a constant dull ache instead of the ripping, agonizing pain Xiao had assumed being abandoned would feel like.
Strangely it's Yelans voice he hears last. Voice breaking as she shouts.
He knows enough about her history to see the similarities to his own. He sympathizes because he knows it is always easier for the dead.
He almost feels relieved, that is what he will be soon.
It’s dark and cold and sudden and he fights the urge to cry, crying is useless, he won’t face death in tears, none of the other Yaksha have.
And it seems he is officially the last.
And then there is a hand around his wrist, and he is opening eyes he hasn’t even realized he has closed, and for a moment all he can see is a brilliant amber light, hand reaching for him and he is a child again, saved from a bloody monster, forced to eat the dreams of all, ready to be bound with a new name by a man he was first afraid of, a man he has grown to trust.
And the light is gone and he is back and not dead.
It’s two days later that he hunts Zhongli down, he finds the man on his walk to the funeral parlor, a job that Xiao still thinks has some strange ironic twist that has Celestia laughing.
He looks no different than any of the other times Xiao has seen him, peaceful, admiring trees around him, shooting a brief smile to an older woman who nods her head back as they both stride in opposite directions.
When they are unquestionably alone Zhongli acknowledges his presence. “Xiao.” He greets, still walking.
Xiao goes to his side and Zhongli gives him a fond look, seemingly pleased to see him. Xiao doesn’t know why, it’s Xiao seeking him out this time, Zhongli has nothing he needs aid in presumably or he would have called Xiao. And he hasn’t. He hasn’t in awhile.
Xiao is decidedly not upset by this.
“Why did you save me?” How was he there? How did he know Xiao was dying, and did he not have another companion now? Xiao dying would signify the turn of a new era that Zhongli had already embraced. Xiao was as much of a relic of the past as Morax and Zhongli had no qualms with throwing him away.
And yet… his most recent actions made Xiao feel unbalanced. Why had Zhongli saved him? He had crushed his slowly building hope every time new ideas had dared to crawl into his mind. Maybe Zhongli wanted him after the ginger had died, after all mortals had fragile lifespans and the ginger was a fighter, maybe he recognized this and would go back to Xiao after Childe’s passing.
(Maybe he cared. Still. Somehow.)
“It was not your time to die.” Zhongli spoke softly, Xiao remembered his absolute madness after Guizhongs death, how he had clung to Xiao in a perverse way of grief. Zhongli never handled death well, perhaps he feared he would lose control at Xiao’s as well.
Xiao doubted it, Zhongli had loved Guizhong, Xiao and Zhongli’s relationship was different.
Xiao most certainly loved the man, but Zhongli had no reason to love him in return.
“How do you know? That it is not my time? I don't mean to question your judgment, I assure you, but all the other Yaksha are gone, why am I still here?”
“I ask myself a similar question.” Xiao drew back at that, how could Zhongli think such things of himself!? “I don’t have an answer for myself but perhaps I could help you find an answer for yourself?” He waited a moment and Xiao gave a tentative nod, rendered speechless. “You are still here because there is still more you can do, there are still people who need you and you have not gotten the life you deserve quite yet. You should die only after you’ve lived a little.”
“Have you lived?” Xiao doesn’t know why he’s decided to ask such a thing but Zhongli doesn't look offended, or even surprised.
“Yes.” Zhongli pats Xiaos head very quickly, “I have fallen in love—In fact I’ve been lucky enough for it to happen twice— I’ve had family and lost it and found it again…” his eyes stray to Xiao again. “I’ve accomplished much and lived much.”
“So you saved me because you feel as if I haven’t lived yet?” Xiao kept the skepticism from his voice, Zhongli shrugged letting out a breath.
“And I…did not care to lose you quite yet.” Xiao blinked. Zhongli tapped Xiao’s shoulder gently. “Live well, Xiao.”
1
Xiao doesn’t know when it started raining, maybe hours ago, or maybe mere minutes, the downpour is so heavy that regardless of the time of its start it makes little difference and he is drenched.
He is almost thankful that the rain will wash away the tears in his eyes, wash away everything, blood, sweat, dirt, if only it washed away the ache in his bones, the seizing of his heart.
Zhongli is standing. It’s the first thing Xiao registered, his arms are crossed and he is standing tall, feet planted, rain plastering his hair to him, making him look like a regrettable statue.
The second thing Xiao processes is Zhongli’s eyes, closer now Xiao can see how pale the man is, how his firm posture has not budged an inch, hasn’t so much as breathed. How his eyes are somewhere else. Far away.
“Zhongli.” He calls, he hates the tremor in his voice, hates the way his lungs shudder, he is not a weak mortal he will not lose himself in hysteria that they so often do, he is a Yaksha he has lived many years, seen many things— his voice does not tremble, his eyes do not cry he does not struggle to breath as he calls again, using a different name, please any name just come back. “Morax.” He pleads again.
He reaches out a hand, his skin is cold, deathly so. Zhongli always radiates heat, perhaps it’s because half of his bloodstream is hot steeped tea, perhaps it's his inclination towards sunbathing like a large cat, but he’s cold now, and wet. With rain that won’t stop, crashing in his ears.
Here is the man who raised him, who brought him to the Yaksha, who brought him happiness, who tentatively tapped his shoulder or brushed his hair, held his hand— because he knew how strong Xiao was yet treated him like he was just as precious as something breakable was. Who fed him, wrinkled his nose at fish and painted red beneath his eyes for the first time.
“Please.” Xiao pleads hands around his shoulders shaking him gently, there is still no movement, he is still wet and cold and unmoving. “Please I still need you, please don’t leave me alone, Morax, Zhongli please-“
The rain is quieting, lessening, the area bathed in gentle sun as the clouds slowly part and the rain softens to a drizzle.
“Please.” Xiao cries out, voice breaking into millions of delicate pieces, because he is strong and he does not break— he is not the glass Morax had treated him as at first, he does not shatter, his bones can break his lips can bleed, he can be torn apart- clawed at, sliced and shot and he does not break because he is not glass.
But it seems his heart is and it’s breaking.
“I love you.” He gasps. “I love you and I swore to not leave your side and to follow your lead and I will.” He wraps his arms around the man's midsection— what mortals call a hug— tightening his embrace leaning his head into the man's chest intent to stay here until he crumbles to dust.
And it’s his head, pressed against Zhongli’s chest, that allows him to hear the solid heart beat.
And the arms that where stiffly crossed across Zhongli’s chest loosen, and a slight breath passes through his lips, and Xiao squeezes his eyes closed because he doesn’t know if he can handle being wrong, if he can handle his brain tricking him, if he has to see those lifeless eyes.
It’s two minutes later and Xiao feels Zhongli shift, and a large hand wraps around his waist.
His eyes are still closed.
“Xiao?” The voice is confused, Xiao thinks he likes this dream. Hands gently pry his arms off from around Zhongli and Xiao feels too disconnected to really fight it.
The rain has stopped.
“Xiao?” And he’s being cradled, held, like a child, securely pressed against a steady heartbeat and rhythmic breaths. Head resting in the nook of Zhongli’s neck, he can smell rain, but beneath it all…Zhongli. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
“‘S’okay.” Xiao slightly slurs, eyes still closed, curled into the warmer now, Zhongli, they’re moving. “You scare me a lot.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “Why?” Is asked almost timidly.
“I don’t want you to die.” Xiao peels his eyes open, Zhongli is watching him, eyes sharp and bright.
“Why?” Xiao can’t help but scoff at that, he’s hurting vaguely, all over, and later he may find his utter lack of filter disturbing but in the moment he can’t believe how stupid his beloved mentor is.
“Because I love you.” He states bluntly, because it’s the most obvious thing in the world, he doesn't even know why he’s saying it, everyone already knows, at this point it’s just common reiterating that Xiao deeply detests, he hates repeating himself.
But he’ll do anything for Zhongli, and repeating the obvious is sometimes needed with him.
Zhongli’s eyes are wide, rain is dripping from his eye, similar to a tear or two, his hands tighten around Xiao, not like he’s breakable but Xiao finds it reverant nonetheless.
“I love you too.”
“You do?” There's a little smile on his face that Xiao can’t even slightly chase away, his chest is exploding with warmth and his words are breathy and awed.
“Like a son. You’re family Xiao.” There’s a finality in his tone like he’s daring Xiao to argue with him. He should know Xiao seldom argues with him.
And he certainly won’t, not with this.
“I didn’t know.” He croaks and Zhongli’s smile is strained.
“I’m sorry.” He offers.
It feels like breathing after holding your breath, it feels like finishing a race, it feels golden and warm and Xiaos hair is soaked and distantly he’s aware he’s starting to shiver but the smile on his face remains, stupidly stubborn, like the both of them.
“Let's get warmed up.” Zhongli suggests. And Xiao nods.
They have tea together.
And it's exactly like every other time, Zhongli is the same, his little glances, his bright eyes, his hovering touches and his bitter tea.
And he said he loved Xiao.
He’s acting no different…
So, Xiao thinks. He must have loved him for a very long time. Longer than Xiao could have ever guessed or even hoped for.
He remembers the third or fourth time he had tea with Morax. The gentle fussing he had always viewed as condescending.
It seems, perhaps. He was wrong.
And for the first time he’s happy about it.
——-
“I told him.” The taller man slumps, weariness only barely overcoming his clear joy. His eyes are a brilliant amber and visibly teary, a smile stretching across his face weakly, as if he isn’t one who smiles but for once is simply so overjoyed he can’t keep it off his face.
“Yeah?” The shorter ginger is sipping tea, looking amused. “How did it go?”
“Wonderfully.” Zhongli whispers.
“You’ve wanted to tell him for a while.”
“Centuries.”
“I love you.” Says Childe easily, almost bragging.
“I’ll say it back one day.” Zhongli reassures. Because those specific words have always been difficult for him and he’s already said them once today.
“I know.” Childe kisses his forehead. “I’m proud of you and all that.”
“It was easy…saying it back to him, at that moment.” Zhongli’s eyes are distant. “Easier than breathing.”
Because the hardest words for him to say— any difficulty in saying them— had cleared, momentarily awing him with the ease in which they had escaped past his lips and he had said “I love you too”—To Xiao. And Xiao had looked as if Zhongli had gifted him the world.
He loved Xiao, always and finally he had told him.