Work Text:
“You said these were your favorite, right?”
A handful of Qingxin flowers were tucked safely into your elbow, nearly pristine as the moonlight reflected in their translucent leaves. The stems were bound together by a neat silk ribbon, cascading downwards in front of your hanfu. You spoke into the emptiness, much to the dismay of the other hotel guests. But after one, two, three minutes of waiting, you heard the delicate sound of a flute, before he appeared before you.
Xiao spares a moment to glance over your figure before meeting your eyes, a silent affirmation that you could come forward. He never liked when there were people to witness him, let alone interacting with another human. But you were happy to wait.
“I did,” he responds, curtly.
You grin widely, steps padding on the wooden balcony before you hand the makeshift bouquet out to him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, but you simply tuck your hands behind your back, hiding the slight redness of your palms from raw skin scaling the high cliffs.
“I thought so. I saw some on the way home, and I thought of you, so I took a moment to go and get them,” you respond, pointing past the hotel walls towards the distant Stone Gate. It was a long time ago; there was a moment where he spoke fondly of them, amber eyes gazing wistfully into the distance, where memories were buried even further than the remains of the ancient demons.
“Foolish,” he reprimands, but there’s hardly any venom in his tone. “You could have gotten killed.”
You simply laugh: a merry, tinkling little noise, before you fall back into a comfortable silence.
“They’re lovely,” you begin, closing your eyes and remembering the winds cradling you whilst you frolicked across the windborne plains without a care. “They remind me of the cecilias back home.”
He hums in reply. You stood alone with him, weaving your hands together. Xiao’s hands were always cold, as was the rest of him, but you had enough warmth to shelter his storm. He was enthralled by you: how your hands were so small and delicate compared to his, how soft your skin felt underneath the pads of his gloves, and how you were so, so frail compared to him and his adepti blood, but your soul was as strong and unyielding as the sun and moon. More and more, he found himself craving your touch, wanting to find understanding in those shining eyes of yours.
“I wonder…” You speak, and Xiao regards you curiously, before he sees you take one of the smaller flowers and tuck it fearlessly into his hair, right behind his ear. He stills, but makes no effort to take it off.
“What?”
You smile up at him once more, taking his hand in yours.
“I wondered if I could make a flower crown with these ones.”
He scoffs.
“If you can find enough.”
Qingxin flowers were solitary blossoms, only growing two or three at a time, and they grew on the highest peaks of Liyue, and the adepti hated the thought of you plummeting to your death for something as mundane as a flower crown. They were hard to find and hard to grow- and that was for a reason. But some say that these flowers chose to be alone, forgoing the moist, loamy soil of the marshes to embrace the winds above.
He sees you open your mouth to retort, but he silences you effortlessly by plucking the single bloom nestled in his jet-black locks and tucking it behind your ear. The touch he used to brush away your hair was feather soft, and the way he traced the edge of your cheek before pulling away was enough to send shockwaves throughout your body.
Half-leaning on the wooden parapet, Xiao leans back to observe the reddish tint now adorning your cheeks. He blesses you with a small smile, holding the bouquet close to him.
“Beautiful.”