Chapter Text
Xiao is unsure how long he has been cutting through these swathes of his enemies. The night is still pitch-black, much like the energy that swirls around him, but that means little when time is fickle as it is for adepti. The first geovishap fell ages ago, but the disturbances it created only alerted more monsters to his presence, drawing all sorts of evil beasts out into the open, away from the shadows where they lurked. As more amass, as Xiao fells each creature where it stands, the pain of his karmic debt only grows stronger, but Xiao has no intention of stopping any time soon. Not tonight.
Evil activity may be stronger than typical on a night like this, but the pain is comforting in its own way. The faint scratches and scrapes that manage to land on him are a reminder of his place, the agony of his karmic debt a reminder that this is nothing in comparison to the battles he once fought, when his siblings still lived in more than memories. Destroying these dangers, no matter how rural these mountains are, is all Xiao can do to fulfill his duty. To serve his purpose.
It is far from second nature for Xiao to sink into destruction like this. No, causing harm is Xiao's nature, following orders without a thought. Made to serve, never meant to want for more. He needs the reminder tonight more than ever, the pain a welcome reinforcement of his place. His position. The horde that surrounds him is ferocious, but Xiao is no frail human. He stabs and slashes and slices with ease, tearing apart all those who dare threaten this land, dare come between him and the vow he made.
There is a peace that comes from fighting, when the battle has lasted long enough. A sense of fulfillment which drowns out all else when Xiao knows he needs not concern himself with any other trivialities, each frivolous thought banished into the depths of his mind as he focuses on his all-consuming task. He is dedicated to serving his nation, his ruler, his lord. Since the birth of Liyue, Xiao’s role has been to protect it, and it is not a mission he is distracted from easily. But there is one being to whom Xiao will always listen, and when his voice rings in Xiao’s ears, he cannot ignore it.
Xiao? Xiao. Xiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiaoxiao—
Xiao’s magic begins to swirl around him with hardly a thought, instincts honed to obey his lord without delay. True flight in the night air may be most soothing, but Xiao’s preferences mean nothing in the wake of attending to his lord. A final burst of Anemo lashes out from Xiao’s core, felling all his closest targets, and the world blurs around him, magic tugging him to the one who called his name.
“Rex Lapis,” Xiao lets out, sinking to his knees to bow before his lord. “Do you require assistance?”
“Oh, Xiao,” Rex Lapis breathes, hands cupping Xiao’s face with tender, smooth, unmarred skin, bringing his head up to look his lord in the eyes. Perhaps he has grown tired of his war-scarred form, Xiao muses as fingers card through his unkempt, bloody hair, for that face is certainly softer than the one Xiao grew so accustomed to seeing throughout the war, chiseled as his features remain. His eyes have always been gentle, yes, but the warmth that gazes back at Xiao is not one that Xiao often had time to look for. There is a comfort to being looked at like this, to being held like this, as if Xiao is a fragile being that requires delicate care. It may be the furthest thing from the truth, but if Rex Lapis wishes to treat him so carefully, then Xiao will accept what his lord wishes to give him.
“Are you in pain?” he asks, brushing a simple, human-like thumb over Xiao’s temple.
“You need not concern yourself with that, my lord,” Xiao responds, ducking his head to escape Rex Lapis’s piercing gaze. Accepting gentle treatment is one thing, but allowing such frivolous worries to overtake his lord’s mind is quite another. He is a weapon, after all. Pain is a given in his work.
“…Zhongli,” he quietly corrects. Ah, yes. He has always been fond of playing the roles of each form he takes. “And please, Xiao. Answer the question.”
“…Yes,” he admits, unable to ignore a direct request.
“May I take some of it from you, then? Ease your burden?” Zhongli asks, his voice a soothing, rumbling purr, and perhaps a small, selfish part of Xiao wanted Zhongli to know of his suffering, if only to be asked this. To be allowed to be taken care of by another, even if thoroughly undeserving.
“You have fought well, Xiao,” Zhongli murmurs. “You always have. You deserve to rest.”
He smoothes Xiao’s hair back with a firm, gentle hand, and with it, brushes away the last remnant of Xiao’s hesitation. How can he deny his lord like this?
“If you wish to,” Xiao breathes, and the warm smile he receives would dull his pain all by itself, even without Zhongli pulling Xiao into his arms, lifting him in a gentle embrace and carrying him to his bed as Zhongli’s magic seeps into him, flooding his core with a warmth like molten gold flowing through his veins, making Xiao all but melt into Zhongli’s hold.
Soft, smooth sheets brush against him as Zhongli carries him over to the bed, and although much of his pain has already faded thanks to Zhongli, the exhaustion in his bones cannot be so easily pushed away. His instinctual fight of his weaknesses has drained out of him, leaving Xiao with heavy limbs he could hardly hope to put any weight on. He sinks into the mattress, stomach spread over silk, and perhaps his mind would swirl into hazy nothingness if not for the sharp inhale which reaches his ears as he lets his wings fold over himself.
“Xiao…” Zhongli begins before trailing off, and Xiao makes a small, questioning noise in response.
“Your wings are a mess,” he answers, and the concern in his voice would only anger Xiao had it come from anyone else, but from Zhongli, it is but another note of warmth that sinks into him, an extension of the embrace which felt so welcome after such a long period of denying himself even the slightest gentleness. “May I…I’d like to help, if you would let me? I know they can be difficult to care for yourself.”
Xiao’s wings are but another set of limbs, no more in need of delicate care than the rest of him. The discomfort that arises from performing his duty without respite is of little concern to him. But Zhongli has always been fond of running his claws through his feathers, and buried deep in the most remote wastes of Xiao’s memories, there is the faintest familiarity that has always risen near the surface when he allowed his lord to preen his wings, a sense of belonging that drapes over him like the warmest of blankets, resonating within him and swallowing him in safety.
He may be long past deserving it, but Xiao cannot bear to push Zhongli away when he asks this of him, selfishly craves this affection more than nearly any other.
“…If you wish to,” Xiao brings himself to say, and Zhongli hums in response, satisfied.
“I would like nothing more,” Zhongli promises, and Xiao is grateful for the fact that his face rests against the bed, that the heat in his cheeks will not be seen by the faint glow of the starlight. It is foolish to believe such a comment anything more than a simple platitude, but all such considerations nevertheless soon melt from Xiao’s mind as Zhongli’s hands begin stroking through his plumage, delicate fingers working through tangled feathers and misaligned vanes, straightening each section with gentle, methodical care. Each loose feather pulled free is a mountainous weight off his shoulders, every touch pulling him deeper into the soothing haze swirling his mind.
He wants to savor every moment of this calm, quiet peace, but with the worst of Xiao's pain siphoned away, with the fatigue in his muscles set in and the careful tenderness washing over him like a lapping wave, it is growing harder and harder to keep his consciousness aware, time slipping away almost like he's lost himself in battle once again.
Zhongli tugs out a particularly unruly feather, brushing against the sensitive, newly exposed down at the underside of Xiao's wings for just a moment, and he shivers with unexpected pleasure, curling into himself ever-so-slightly—but even that is hardly enough to keep him awake with the almost rhythmic motions through his plumage lull him into nothingness, sending Xiao into a fuzzy, formless sleep faster than he can fight off.