Work Text:
At night, Wangshu Inn was quiet. Xiao liked the peace. It was his duty to keep it that way.
Verr Goldet barely turned from where she had been dusting off a painting as Xiao dropped down onto the second floor. “More monsters?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he made his way inside. “In which direction?”
“North,” she spoke over her shoulder. “There are a few camps there. Huai’an spotted some monster activity in the islands to the east, as well.”
With a flash of green light, Xiao materialized his polearm, tightening his grip around it. “Leave them to me.” Dihua Marsh was a beautiful place, far out from the stifling bustle of Liyue Harbor, but the lack of noisy human activity meant that monsters thrived along its shores instead. Even before Wangshu Inn had been built, he had always made his rounds here, clearing the reeds of hilichurls and slimes.
He knew Verr Goldet and Huai’an didn’t like to bother him, wanted to avoid giving him more than he could handle, but even they couldn’t deny that his work was essential to keeping the inn safe. Verr Goldet finally turned to look at him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, as she always did. Then, after a pause, “Yanxiao left a bowl of almond tofu next to the kitchen, for when you return.”
Xiao nodded, slipping his mask over his face.
He removed the mask over an hour later, inhaling in the crisp air. Huai’an had been correct about the monsters in the islands. As he lifted his polearm out of the ground, he wondered whether there was some underlying cause for the unusual levels of monster activity. It was shaping up to be a long, solitary night of adeptus duties, and he prepared to move to his next location.
As the last hilichurl in front of him dissipated into fragments of light, however, he sensed—in the way that only an immortal guardian of Liyue’s landscapes who had spent thousands of years wandering through its winds could sense—that he was not alone.
He waited, and a few moments later, the notes of a lyre sounded out. It almost brought a smile to his face. Almost. Instead, he closed his eyes at the cool, light breeze that brushed his hair. Venti didn’t need to announce his presence with the lyre. Not when both of them could always tell when the other was there.
Xiao, however, didn’t voice those thoughts. He moved on, following his route through the marsh from one hilichurl campfire to the next. All the while, as his own grunts and the monsters’ cries filled the air, the music followed. Light notes on the lyre created a tune that he couldn’t quite name but felt vaguely familiar. And in the silence of the aftermath, once the final hilichurls had fallen and the area was peaceful once more, all that remained was the sojourner’s music amid the backdrop of the night’s sounds.
The islands were unusually filled with monsters, but they were mostly harmless. As Xiao made his way north, fatigue luring him further into its grasp, he ran into larger enemies. Small cryo slimes were replaced by samachurls and shielded mitachurls, though he still plowed through them without hesitation. At one camp, he came across two large mitachurls, swinging their flaming axes towards him.
He had just dealt his final blow to the first one, plunging his spear into it and watching it fall forward, when he heard the other rushing across the grass towards him. Before he could turn around to finish it, he heard another sound: an arrow whizzing through the air. Xiao turned just in time to see it strike the mitachurl in the face, toppling it with a blast of Anemo energy.
As both mitachurls faded away, Xiao sighed. “I could’ve handled that myself,” he spoke into the silence, looking down at the ground where the first mitachurl had turned into light.
No response. When he turned around, Venti stood behind him.
Venti’s lyre was nowhere to be seen, and instead, both of his hands were wrapped around a bow that glowed teal in the dark. Like his Vision. And his eyes. Before Xiao could get lost in those bright eyes like he had so many times, he pivoted away. Both of them knew he had a job to do. That didn’t stop Xiao, however, from hearing the smile in Venti’s voice as he said, “I know.”
Wordlessly, Xiao continued onwards. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, but soon, the music started up again, following him wherever he went. It remained soft and sweet, keeping a consistent tempo, even when he felt himself beginning to lose energy, when the strikes of his spear became slower and weaker. Still, he gritted his teeth and fought his way through the night as if the weight of his karmic debt did not matter, relishing in the moments of quiet when the song seemed to soothe his injuries.
But Venti had always been perceptive—too perceptive, in Xiao’s opinion. Several times while fighting, Xiao would turn to an opponent only to see an arrow already protruding from its neck. He didn’t say anything, knowing it would not stop the god.
Removing his mask from his face again, Xiao paused to breathe heavily, resting his weight on a large rock for a moment. The music stopped. He became keenly aware of footsteps and looked up to see Venti, again, a short distance away, standing underneath the branches of a sandbearer tree.
“Xiao,” Venti said, his voice softer than the tunes of his lyre. “You’re hurting.”
Xiao couldn’t exactly refute him, not when the blood on his arms—though not all of it was his—and the slumped posture of his body were saying otherwise. His throat twisted when he tried to lie, so he settled for a truth, avoiding Venti’s gaze. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Venti sighed, his usually playful demeanor replaced by something far more concerned. “Even the adepti need rest.”
Do they? Xiao wondered, thinking of Rex Lapis constantly watching over his lands, of Ganyu working tirelessly with humans, of the fallen Yakshas dedicating their lives to what only he was left to do.
“Come on.” And there was the petulant tone of Venti’s voice that he was more familiar with. When Xiao looked over again, Venti had climbed the tree and was now sitting on one of its branches. He patted the space beside him. “Let’s take a break.”
Xiao couldn’t help himself; he snorted. “You’re taking a break too? You were only playing the lyre,” he pointed out, though he couldn’t bring himself to fill the words with any malice.
Venti grinned cheekily. “I’m the emotional support bard! My music is essential to helping you.” Yes, Xiao thought, yes, it really is, but the words died on his tongue. Venti tilted his head, staring down at him with those round teal eyes, his expression softening. “Please, Xiao.”
And Xiao gave in—how could he not, with Venti looking at him like that? He sat next to Venti, adjusting his weight on the branch so they wouldn’t topple over, although he was sure Venti would find that greatly amusing. After a moment of hesitation, he rested his head against Venti’s shoulder before slumping against him fully, suddenly keenly aware of the exhaustion he had managed to fend off for so long.
Venti’s hands threaded through his hair—a touch so gentle and comforting that Xiao couldn’t bring himself to break away. He angled his head so he could see Venti’s soft, familiar smile. Perhaps it was that smile, or those eyes, or the tiredness washing over him that made his lips looser than usual, as he couldn’t stop himself from murmuring, “Why do you always come to Dihua Marsh?”
The fingers running along his hair stopped. “I am allowed to go wherever I please,” Venti said, raising an eyebrow. “Why can’t that be here, among the sandbearer trees?”
“No, I mean,” Xiao began, feeling his voice waver, “why does Mondstadt’s Archon spend his nights wandering around an inn in Liyue? Following an adeptus with his music? When he has no obligation to?”
He wasn’t sure how he expected Venti to answer the question. But it was still unexpected when Venti’s eyes crinkled, and he said, without the slightest hesitation in his voice, “Well, someone needs to take care of you.” A finger tapped lightly against Xiao’s forehead. “Since you refuse to do it yourself,” he added teasingly. Xiao sighed, too tired to open his mouth and argue.
Which, of course, Venti instantly picked up on. “Get some rest, Xiao,” he murmured, his hand gently patting Xiao’s shoulder. “Close your eyes. Forget everything until the sunrise.”
Xiao kept his eyes open stubbornly, flicking his gaze to the dark sky and the distant moon. “Right here? In the middle of the marsh?”
Venti’s tone, though still lilting and melodic, left little room for argument. “Everything will be alright. I’ll stay with you for the whole night.”
At that, Xiao opened his mouth to protest. The Anemo Archon spending an entire night watching over him as he took a nap? Even if it wouldn’t be the first time, there was no way he was deserving of that, when there were far more pressing matters—
“Xiao,” Venti reprimanded, “you need the rest.” His face didn't remain stern for long—Xiao doubted it truly could—and his mouth soon curved into a mischievous smile. “I truly don’t mind watching over you while you sleep.”
If Xiao were the type to blush, he probably would have reddened from those words. Instead, he covered his face with an arm and desperately hoped that his skin remained pale. “Are you saying you enjoy watching me in my sleep?” he asked, thinking of the other times he’d fallen asleep in the bard’s presence.
“Not in a creepy way,” Venti said quickly. “But… Whatever karma plagues your waking hours seems to have no hold over you when you’re asleep.” If only Xiao could solve all of his problems by taking a millennia-long nap. If only he had dreams as sweet as the ones he had once devoured. “You look so relaxed; you even smile. And your smile is beautiful.”
The arm Xiao was using to hide his face remained firmly in place as he swallowed nervously, never really knowing what to say when Venti strung his melodic— romantic—words together in a way that Xiao likely never would. When that note of reverence entered Venti’s voice, he never knew how to respond. Xiao was a follower of a god, not someone to be followed by a god playing the lyre in the moonlight. “Maybe I’m a selfish god, Xiao,” Venti breathed, his voice shaky, “but I just want to see you smile.”
Xiao felt sure that he was blushing this time, but also that his face had relaxed. Maybe not into a smile, but something almost there, free of the agony that followed him everywhere. Adjusting his position on the branch carefully, he leaned into Venti’s lap, resting his head on his leg and letting his eyes drift past Venti’s face to focus on the sky.
“Want me to play you a song?” Venti asked, his voice more hushed than before.
Xiao began to nod, feeling his eyelids flutter shut, before he stopped. “Wait,” he said, lifting a hand. As Venti paused to listen, he cleared his throat. “Could you… play it on the Dihua flute?”
“Anything for you,” was the gentle reply. Venti’s lyre disappeared in a burst of soft teal light, and a Dihua flute appeared in his hands instead.
As the sojourner’s Liyuen melodies filled the air, Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to smile.