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“You called?”
The wind rustles, Venti’s eyes closed and a sweet smile on his face. “I did.”
“What do you need of me?”
“The other Archons are tipsy and thoroughly ignoring me. So I thought I might slip away, and with you, spend my day.”
“Venti.”
“Oh, hush.” He floats up, leaning forward to press a finger to Xiao’s lips. “I’ll promise discreteness if I must.” The finger moves to Xiao’s cheek, caressing it. He can’t help the way his eyes flutter, the way his breath is punched out of him, his heart settles. “But it’s been so long since I’ve seen you and there’s simply so much I want to do.”
“Are you certain the others did not see you leave?”
“Oh, please. They won’t miss lil ol’ me.” Venti slings his arms around Xiao’s neck. “Besides…do we really still need to hide?”
Xiao’s hands come up, settling on Venti’s waist. Warm under his touch. He leans in that last inch, pressing his forehead to Venti’s and his nose to Venti’s cheek. “I have not yet told him.” When Venti doesn’t respond, instead playing with the longer strands of Xiao’s hair, he continues: “I am unsure how to broach the subject, nor how he would react. You are allies, yes. But I know he would not approve of your…potential influence.”
“Maybe if he saw, he’d realize…see the sincerity in my eyes. He’d know I’d never do anything that could hurt you.”
“Perhaps it’s still too soon…”
“Liebling, it’s been seven centuries. But if that’s your wish, I will cede.”
His thumbs rub in arcs over Venti’s waist. The robes he wears are loose, but decent. Perhaps he’d finally had enough of Morax’s lectures on impropriety at the meetings of the Seven. Or perhaps it’s because winter is fast approaching in Liyue and the air bites cold. “I wish to enjoy the little time I have with you, free from worries.”
There’s a hum, light and melodic as all things Venti are. “You’ve gotten better at saying these things out loud. I must admit, I’m quite proud.”
Xiao seals their lips, if only to hide the flush of his cheeks.
Venti hums—short and low and content. Fingers scratch at the nape of his neck and it tingles down his spine; pleasant and easy. His mind falls blessedly silent.
“My warrior,” a sigh against his lips, a gust of wind, “you’ve worked so hard. Come, rest your head on my shoulder.”
Who is he to deny such a simple request?
Venti lowers them to sit on this rock—to look out on Luhua Pool and its gentle waves. His hand cradles the back of Xiao’s head, urging it to nestle in the dip of his neck. The perfect place to press featherlight kisses, to drink in Venti’s even lighter giggles.
He stands at Morax’s side.
The other Archons must know what he is—a dog, waiting for his master’s command. They don’t acknowledge his presence. Why would they? Some of them must know him; though his looks have changed, surely they would recognize Alatus the Godkiller. Refuse to accept that one so tainted as he could stand in their presence.
She had made many enemies and too many fell at his hand. But not all of them did.
Except a stare crawls along his skin and when he looks—ocean green eyes, unblinking and heavy as Barbatos raises a glass to his lips. His mouth dries.
When the others have stood, lingering as they say their goodbyes and the stink of alcohol clouding their tongues, Barbatos approaches him.
For almost a minute, they stare at each other. Barbatos looks him up and down until his eyes catch. He leans in. Reaches forward.
When Barbatos’s fingers dance over Xiao’s Vision, something inside him swirls. His form-mark flickers, alighting for half a second.
“I see you’re one of mine.”
“I am owned by no one.” It’s harsh and low, almost a growl. But Barbatos just grins, eyes sparkling.
“And I don’t look to own you,” his lips part, fingers pressing firmer on the Vision and tracing lazy shapes. It steals Xiao’s breath, the squirming in his chest following the movement, his form-mark pulsing. Lightheaded. “But I might like to know you.”
“Barbatos.” It takes a second too long for those lidded eyes to tear away from Xiao’s. “Forego your teasing and leave my adeptus be.”
Barbatos looks back at him just once more, before stepping away, light as air. “As you wish~”
Venti giggles, eager as Xiao pulls him away, behind a tree. Hums as Xiao kisses him. Gets breathy the harder Xiao presses. Wandering hands, caressing the bare skin of his back.
“So—hah, so bold today…”
“I missed you.”
“You can call me any time, darling. I’ll come to you.”
And if he never wants Venti to leave? If he calls Venti every day? Would Venti still come? Would Venti tire of Xiao always calling on him? Would his interest fade with each utterance of his name?
He doesn’t know how to ask.
So he just kisses Venti instead.
Any one of them could walk past. They could round the bend and see their fellow Archon pressed up against a tree, being ravished by a lowly adeptus.
And Morax? If Morax saw? What would he do then?
But when Venti’s hips grind against his, Xiao decides: he doesn’t care.
—
“Mmm.” Venti runs his hands through Xiao’s hair, rubbing his cheek against Xiao’s. His hands. And Xiao is pliant beneath them, however much his mind screams at him not to be.
Venti’s robes have been sullied—dirt-stained, branches caught in the folds. Surely tainted somewhere with their spend. It will be obvious what he’s done, to anyone who cares enough to look.
If anyone had cared enough to listen, had gotten close enough to the edge of the mountaintop.
There’s still idle chatter floating from above them.
“Xiao, my little bird.”
He huffs. Nuzzles into Venti’s hair. Kisses.
“I love you.”
Freezes. The hand in his hair continues its ministrations.
“You don’t have to say it back. You don’t even have to feel the same way. But I love you and I want you to know it.”
Xiao lifts his head, slowly. Like if he moves too fast, too sudden, the moment will spook and run. Yet Venti’s eyes are soft and sad. “You do? Truly?”
Venti nods.
The exhale that leaves Xiao is shuddering, short and punched and gasping. “My light, my heart,” Xiao cups Venti’s cheek with one hand, using his other to bring Venti’s to rest above Xiao’s heart, “always, I love you. With everything I am.”
“Such a sweet talker,” Venti’s voice is shaky, his smile trembling. “Come here.”
Venti’s grip is tight and he holds Xiao well into the night.
When Morax returns, his eyes are empty. He speaks to no one, but Xiao doesn’t miss the blood on his hands.
“Venti?”
The air is still.
Rex Lapis sits alone at his stone table.
Xiao stands off to the side. Eyes the bottle of osmanthus wine on the table, unopened and next to a bushel of the ripest apples.
The sun sets.
Rex Lapis opens his eyes.
“It seems even this is not enough to lure him out.”
A frog croaks somewhere across the water.
“Is Venti in danger?” Only after it slips from his lips does Xiao realize. Only after those amber eyes fix on him, aglow with something unreadable.
“...Venti?” Rex Lapis lowers his tea cup. “Adeptus Xiao, is there something you wish to tell me?”
Xiao takes a step back. His eyes fall, head bowed. “My Lord, I-I meant—I apologize, I didn’t—”
“Xiao.” He rises, long sleeves dripping to the ground. “How is it you refer to the Anemo Archon so freely? So…casually.”
There’s an earthquake in his voice, deep and rumbling and dangerous.
“My Lord, I had never intended to hide this from you, I had always meant to tell you, I was just uncertain how to—”
“Xiao.” Rex Lapis’s feet come into view, the ground cracking beneath him. “Tell me.”
He doesn’t shout. No, Rex Lapis never raises his voice, these days. But it still chills Xiao to the bone.
“We are lovers. Barbatos and I. Venti and I.”
Silence.
Bone-breaking, deafening silence.
“How long?” Quiet, but not soft.
Xiao swallows. Breathes deep. Keeps his eyes down. “A century after the War ended.”
More silence.
Rex Lapis walks away. Stands by his stone chair. “Seventeen centuries. Seventeen centuries and you never told me.”
“I had not intended—”
“And yet you did. Why?”
Xiao raises his head, squares his shoulders. But still can’t meet Rex Lapis’s eyes. “You have never expressed your approval of Barbatos. I was concerned regarding your reaction.”
Rex Lapis sits. A cup of tea is poured, steam blown away gently. “Barbatos is asleep. I know not when he will wake.” A sip. “Return to your duties, Adeptus Xiao.”
The sun rises.
He begins with one hour of—hopefully—uninterrupted mediation. Then his qigong exercises, along the branches for balance.
Spear forms, next.
And then patrol.
The sun sets.
He continues to patrol.
When he returns to the roof of Wangshu, he sits. Meditates.
Opens his mouth.
Just one more time. Just once more.
It’s what he told himself yesterday, and the day before, and every day for the past five hundred years (one hundred eighty-two thousand, five hundred and sixty-seven days). It’s part of his routine just as much as everything else.
The expectation of nothing is routine, too.
He breathes in deep.
“Venti.”
Perhaps he says it, only to not forget it. To not forget the way it winds around his tongue, the way the letters taste as it rests behind his lips. To remember how he used to whisper it against hot skin, soft cheeks, fluffy hair.
The leaves rustle.
“You called?”