Work Text:
There is a cool gale that winds its way through town. It rustled the leaves on the birch trees and Xiao’s hair, flicking the loose strands about in a distracting way. Xiao has just gotten off the bus and is walking to the campus for his classes. Nose buried in his striped green scarf, he is glad Ganyu urged him to put it on before he left the apartment — the air has turned crisp seemingly overnight and he can feel it settle cool on his cheeks and face.
This will be his last semester at the university where he is studying choreography and political science. It hasn’t been too difficult, studying comes easily to him and he doesn’t need sleep. Also, Ganyu being as organized as she is, has no qualms with setting up note cards all around the house for him to study from. It became a fun game for Qiqi to follow along with as she gets to read along with his notes and therefore, has an easier time remembering what subjects he’s on.
The only burdensome part about the classes he takes is having to leave the house and spending his days hustling around campus. Part of the reason he’s enrolled is, in Ganyu’s words, he should socialize and make friends, and get out of the house more. Get to know the city before they move again.
Also, having a degree is good for getting employment if Xiao ever wanted to.
Ganyu, as usual, was right on all accounts and Xiao does enjoy his classes, to a degree. He still yearns for the warmth of his bed when he has to wake up at 8 am because he may be immortal, but he still doesn’t get to decide what classes he gets into. Or what ungodly hour his required credit classes are held at.
His bag is heavy with the weight of his laptop and a couple of his textbooks. Ganyu got into a mood recently, said their living room “needed a makeover” and enlisted Qiqi help in rearranging, as usual. She even gave Xiao an assignment; bade him to go try out the new “trendy, young, hipster” cafes that have popped up around town while he does his other assignments from class.
So far, none of them have been particularly good. Sugary drinks and overpriced sweets are in overabundance, and there tends to be people he recognizes from his university that frequent them. Xiao prefers not to socialize that much outside of classes. It's better not to get attached.
He sighs, his eyes raised to look at the changing colors of foliage. Xiao only had one class for today, then he can go to whatever cafe that catches his eye for a couple hours and head home after.
Qiqi gently eases the door to his room open. Out of the two other people in this house, she's the only one who doesn't knock; Xiao knows it is her without looking.
"Xiao- gege , what are you doing?" Qiqi asks in her soft voice. She is probably wondering why he's holed up in his room instead of slouching around the house.
"Just, something for school Qiqi," He clicks furiously at his computer screen. "You can come in if you want."
While he scans the web page Qiqi softly pads to his bed where he is perched with his laptop. She clambers over and sits on the pretzel of his legs. He adjusts her so she sits leaning back against his chest.
"What, what are you looking at." Qiqi asks blankly. Qiqi understands what computers are but she has trouble operating one when she forgets what she was doing or looking for within the span of a couple clicks. Although usually she can handle a simple search.
"There's this textbook I need for a class. I can't find a copy of it anywhere. " Xiao says. He growls, clicking and scrolling rapidly on the buying and selling page he found for the students at his school. He's been looking for what feels like hours. It is a stupid problem. Why did his professor have to choose such an esoteric, dumb book!?
Xiao is consumed with irritation for a moment, his scrolling getting more irate as he curses his professor out in his head. Like he knows how some of his other classmates probably are doing after all of them received their syllabi and they were essentially wished good luck as they were sent on a wild goose hunt.
A small, cold hand touches his cheek and Xiao temporarily snaps out of his haze of murderous intentions. Qiqi is looking up at him with impassive violet eyes. "Ask Ganyu- jiejie ? Help?"
"No, no, it's alright Qiqi. We don't need to ask Ganyu for help." He pats her lilac head. "If I can't find it I'll just go to the library and photocopy the entire thing from their copy…" He groans internally at the very thought.
Just then his eyes alight on a message. It's short, five years ago a person commented that there is a small chance, but there is a specialty bookstore that stocks some eccentric and rare books. This person advises to try at this location for textbooks if there are no other options available. It has garnered a couple 'likes' but that's it, no other comment.
"Ah, this is better than nothing." Even though it is a bit dated, he is desperate enough to give it a try. At least it looks like the shop still exists, Xiao sighs as he jots down the address for the store. Gentry of Hermitage, what an odd name. "No harm in trying, I guess." It also falls in line with Ganyu's assignment for him, because according to the listing when he searches for it, the bookstore also doubles as a tea shop.
"Good news?" Qiqi asks from underneath his chin, eyes uncomprehending and set on the glowing screen. She pats his cheek absentmindedly with one little hand. He smells a whiff of lemon from her fingers and figures Ganyu must be making fruit preserves again.
"I hope so, Qiqi." He rests his cheek on her head, his eyelids falling close as he breathes deep for a moment of respite before he psyches himself up to go outside into the brisk weather.
Hands in pockets, Xiao stares up at the store. Just off the main street, down an alleyway, it was the sole shop in this sidestreet, with the other end of the alleyway opening into the other large avenue. Ensconced into the bottom of the multistory building like a cave in a hillside, Gentry of Hermitage was situated in an obscure location, at least the two clay potted plants of yellow and white chrysanthemums at the front and the glimmer of incandescent lighting coming through the windows lended it a welcoming atmosphere.
A bell chimed overhead when he entered, startling him a little. A voice, a man’s, called from elsewhere, “I’ll be right there!”
Xiao stood in the doorway looking around. It was at least three floors from what he could see. An old-fashioned brass chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling and a staircase led up to the other landings that wrapped around three sides of the shop. It smells like old books and floral tea. Rugs cover the wooden floors between the bookshelves, which themselves feel like they tower twice the height of Xiao. To his left a counter is set up to include a register, an electric stove with a kettle, behind of which is an impressive wall of cubby holes each holding its own large glass container of dried tea leaves.
He is caught scanning over the myriad of tea leaves reaching up to the ceiling when the owner of the shop makes himself known.
“Hello,” a rich, low voice comes from his right, Xiao turns and then he can do nothing but stare, baffled.
This man…he is dressed to kill, clearly, whether he is meant to be a dashing bartender or super secret sniper-assassin what have yous, or, whatever else is Xiao's thing — because his thing turns out to be bookshop owners who come to tend shop in the middle of nowhere done up in pressed slacks, a trim waistcoat nipped to frame the man’s waist in exquisite fashion, and a button down shirt. He was planted here to kill Xiao, there’s no other way around it.
"Sir? Is there any way I can assist you?" Golden-brown eyes gaze at him questioningly without judgment. Xiao blinks as he realizes he's been staring at this walking penthouse bar of a man for too long to be appropriate. He clears his throat, looking away in what he hopes is enough to save face — it probably wasn’t, but anyway.
“Yeah, I’m looking for this textbook, I couldn’t find it anywhere online, and someone left a tip saying you carry rare books?” Xiao turns to watch the man as he heads behind the counter.
“Oh, are you a student at Lisha University? Occasionally students do come to my store relaying similar stories.” He notes offhandedly. “What is the name of the book you need?”
“It’s, I think it was,” It was a difficult task recalling the title when he is being laid into by a rather unique golden, intense, inquisitive gaze, “Iconography of 10th Century Art Nouveau Liyue?” He fought to not fidget with his scarf or the ends of his large hoodie’s sleeves while waiting to see if the title sparked recognition in the other man’s expression.
“Ah!” He snaps the fingers of his left hand, eyes bright. “Yes, by Soraya Anand, correct?” He hustles from behind the counter, a flurry of energy where he was stolid tranquility just moments before.
“If I remember correctly, I do have a copy of it, just a moment, please.” The willowy man turns away for just a moment, before he seems to remember something and swivels back on the balls of his feet, his long, thin ponytail whips around with his movement. “Ah, what should I call you?” A mild smile adorns his face.
“X-Xiao, you can call me Xiao.”
“Excellent, just stay put, Xiao, I’ll be back at the drop of a hat.” And he strides away. Xiao’s eyes drift down for a moment to a spot right below where the waistcoat ends before he catches himself. He can’t just be blushing incessantly by the time the other man returns.
“Right, you can call me Zhongli!” The man, now known as Zhongli, calls from the back somewhere. Xiao tentatively answers back with an okay. He casts a look around again, to the right, next to the front window, is two sets of sturdy, wooden tables and chairs. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath of the scented air and listening to the sound of Zhongli rummaging in the other room, the tick tock of a clock elsewhere in the shop. It was rather calming, nothing like those buzzing beehives of tea shops with their eye-catching decor. Here it is all warm, rich tones from the deep brown of the bookshelves to the vibrant patterned rugs.
Xiao keeps his face carefully blank when Zhongli returns, but his eyes are still drawn to long legs that look sinfully good, he drags his eyes up them, but turns away before he meets Zhongli’s eyes, feigning indifference.
“Here you are.” Zhongli has the same amiable smile on his face as he places the book on the counter. He asks Xiao to double check the title and price before he starts ringing him up.
“Do students come here to study often?” Xiao asks, gesturing to the tables. He does his best to sound apathetic about it, like it didn’t matter either way.
Zhongli glances over at his pointing, “Oh, indeed, I have some regulars that come by every now and then. Not so many that it ever gets crowded.” He returns his attention to the screen. “There’s other areas towards the back and on the higher floors for studying. And —” With a flourish and a little uptick in the corner of his mouth, he finishes typing and grabs an ornate black cane from somewhere under the counter to jab at the wall behind him. “I have teas you can try right here in the shop, I brew them for customers, and they can purchase some tins of them to take home, if they like.”
Xiao looks at the broad line of his shoulders in that vest and button up, that jawline, the flex of his arms when he twirled the cane, the enigmatic smile, and swallows to wet his suddenly dry throat. “You run this place all by yourself?”
“Yes, six years and counting, you might say,” He cocks his head to the side, earring glinting in the chandelier light. “You might say, I’m a man of many hats.” Incandescent eyes glimmer with mirth. Xiao frowns minutely at the audacity of such a roundabout joke. It wasn’t funny, but being a owner of a bookstore probably lends him a unique sense of humor.
Xiao pays and thanks him for the help, and Zhongli says that it was no matter at all, with a little wave of his fingers and wink.
Later, he leaves with a fleeting backward glance. Zhongli is walking away from the counter to tend to some other part of the shop. Despite himself, Xiao feels a quiet thrill run through his heart at the thought of returning to see him again, even for just because he is handsome and lovely to look at. And Xiao knows for sure where to find him again.
Weeks later, Xiao is surprised by how much he ends up stopping by. Enough for Ganyu to tease him that he never seems to be home anymore. Did you get a boyfriend? She asks from where she changes the sofa covers. Boyfriend? Boyfriend? Qiqi had asked, hands patting at his cheeks. When he blushed furiously, she nods to herself in satisfaction and he hurried to correct her that no , he didn’t acquire a boyfriend.
How he wished though.
It was embarrassing. He went to his classes, retrieved his assignments and conversed with his classmates as needed, then hurried to Gentry of Hermitage nearly everyday. Rain or shine; better when it was raining, or when it was windy even, because the soothing balm of reaching the store amid foul weather was a relief beyond belief.
The suffusing warmth of seeing the familiar windows fills his body with a rush of overwhelming endorphins. Even spying a glimpse of Zhongli through the left window if he happens to be brewing tea or organizing the register elicits a simple joy he never knew he was capable of until now.
Then afternoons find Xiao curled up in his signature spot: a plush red couch pressed against one of the windows on the third floor, with a mahogany rectangle table pulled close for him to set a laptop on, charger plugged into the outlet between the shelf and couch that he has to lean over the back cushions to reach. If it gets busy enough, someone should be able to sit on the other half of the sofa, Xiao only takes up one side; sitting with his knees as he leans his body against the arm of the couch. As often as he has headphones in to listen to music, he just as often prefers to keep them off, that way he can hear the rain patter against the window and Zhongli’s coming and goings.
And speaking of that man.
Xiao thinks he might be in love.
Zhongli has been nothing but kind and gracious. When Xiao sheepishly asked him what teas he would recommend on his second time to the shop, Zhongli had expounded in great detail the complexities and varieties of tea leaves he had. Xiao ended up just letting him choose for him. That day Zhongli served him a black tea blend with sunflower petals, calendula petals, and essences of blackcurrant, vanilla, and lemon that he had made long ago with the Kir Royale cocktail in mind.
Now Xiao hears his footsteps coming up the staircase and Xiao peeks over his laptop lid to see him bearing a tea set on a tray as elegantly as ever. He weaves around the bannister to him, sailing through the shop like second nature.
“Xiao, working as always I see.” His baritone voice is soft to account for other customers. Setting down the tray with a clink, he lifts the pot and porcelain cup to place it on the table.
“Today we have zhèngshān xiǎozhǒng tea, also known as lapsang souchong.” Explains Zhongli as he lifts the teapot to pour it into the cup with casual, easy grace. “It is a smoked tea leaf, so as you would expect, it has hints of wood smoke, as well as pine resin, smoked paprika, and dried longan.” When he finishes pouring he has a little smile on his lips. “It is one of my favorites. I hope it is to your tastes as it is not as bitter as other black teas.”
“Thank you, xiansheng.” Xiao murmurs, as he had started calling him. The man is too well-read, too much of a respected gentleman even in this small shop for him not to call him that as a Liyue native. He lifts the cup to his lips to blow on it gently.
“No need to be too courteous, my dear. I am only glad you are willing to indulge me.” His eyes crinkle with his smile and Xiao is robbed of the air with which to blow his tea. The man is too handsome in the warm light. The longer strand of dark hair curves too perfectly against the side of his face. And that endearment, Xiao can only assume that it comes naturally to him, as a sweet-talking gentleman would, and probably because he thinks Xiao is younger than him.
Xiao’s eyes follow him as he heads back down, analyzing the gentle sway of the other’s ponytail like it held the secrets to how to be as enigmatic and magnetic as its owner. He is grateful to the man for indulging him . If his adoration wasn’t plain to see already. In all his centuries of existence he had never seen one like him.
Sometimes, when Xiao is brave enough — and unwilling to contend his schoolwork a moment longer — he’ll unravel himself and go downstairs at the late hours when there is no one else. He will pull one of the stools over and sit at the counter. Zhongli, softened and unhurried as a result of completing his own bookkeeping for the day, leans against the sleek wood where they can then share words.
Zhongli can recite whole books by memory, it seems, Only a couple! He insists. Otherwise I just remember key passages from some of my favorites. Before he recited the entirety of the Armillary Sphere Scriptures right there on the spot. In truth, Xiao wished this recital came with a warning so that he could have recorded it — Zhongli delivered it with such an articulate manner and panache Xiao felt unworthy of, but entranced all the same — but he didn't presume he could demand Zhongli to perform it again, for a performer he is not. Just a rather unique bookstore owner with a fantastic memory.
Apparently, the vest and tie affair wasn’t the norm for Zhongli. Most of the time, he wears thick turtleneck sweaters with long black jackets, or cardigans over button-ups. It renders him not a bit less than the luxurious creature that Xiao first took him as, but one with a gentler air, edges blunted.
He looks extremely cozy and like he would give out the best hugs. It makes Xiao want to get as close as possible to this man all wrapped in softness and warm colors of beige and dark gray.
Xiao gently mourns the loss of the view of his lovely ass though. Now obscured by the long jackets and cardigans.
Then one day, Zhongli comes seeking him out instead of the other way around.
"Do you mind if I join you?" It must already be two months since they first met. Today, Zhongli is wearing black turtleneck overlaid with a thick cardigan that’s an even deeper black, light gray and white grid pants tucked into black army boots. An orange diamond shaped gem on a chain rests at his sternum. He looks like a model straight off the cover of dark academia fashion catalogue and Xiao prays he never tries for a smolder or else he would combust.
He holds a fresh tray of tea in his hands that he sets down. Xiao realizes that Zhongli is settling in to give him company and is mortified and filled with elation all the same.
"No, of course not." He makes motions of shifting himself over a little even though there is plenty of space.
"I hope it isn't much of an intrusion, it’s been rather slow today,” He pushes some strands of his hair behind his ear and cradles a teacup, taking a sip, “and you said you weren't preoccupied with assignments?"
Xiao thinks about it for a second before admitting, “Hm-mm, I think I’ve been more productive than usual.”
Zhongli chuckles, “Is it really quite so comfortable here? It gladdens me though, to hear it.”
Xiao can’t tell if he’s fishing for compliments and chooses not to acknowledge it, “I’m surprised not that many come here.”
Zhongli hums. “This town is more of a college town than anything else, there are the highs and lows of the seasons, but not many who come here stay for long. The regulars I have that order from me, they live out in the suburbs and visit rarely.”
Here he cracks a little grin, “They write to me though, and it’s rather charming. Imagine writing and sending real letters nowadays? It’s a novelty that I cherish. Even if others may call me archaic for it.”
Xiao scoffs under his breath. “Who is calling you old, I find it a—” Attractive.
“A-adorable!” How was that any better!?
Zhongli blinks.
“Adorable? I haven’t been called that in awhile. How nice of you.” Xiao is set at ease with how calm Zhongli is and then promptly beset with the thought of, Someone else has said it to him before? Who! Of course it is easy to guess who, almost all the other customers who come here regularly are similarly charmed by the man like Xiao is. Men and women alike.
Also, “Wait, does that mean you don’t have a cellphone? Or a personal computer?”
“Ah, cellphones…” Zhongli avoids his gaze, fiddling with his cup. “Technology…, you know how it is, no matter how the world develops, it’s not necessary, is it, to be constantly connected like that?”
He holds up a finger abruptly, “A saying comes mind that is fitting for this, as a wise man once said, the earthworm that winds its way through the dirt below your feet works tirelessly, yet you are not aware of it, when you have need to know of it, the earthworm will come to you.”
“As the world turns, and technology advances, static fills the air and our minds. It is ever changing and formless. That’s why I remain here, with these books that hold knowledge of ages past, so that this scholarship as solid as stone can be kept.” He finishes and fixes his gaze upon Xiao for his response, completely earnest.
Xiao stares, then he clears his throat. “If you are just bad at using technology, you could just say so.”
Amidst Zhongli’s spluttering, Xiao has a thought. “Still, do you actually have a phone? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with one.” Other than the rotary downstairs that's for the callers to the store itself.
Zhongli flaps a hand dismissively. “It’s likely somewhere in the back room downstairs. Plugged in since the last time I remembered to bring it here. I never bring it home anymore. I tend to forget it in random places.”
“What if someone calls you? Or text you?”
“Texts?” Zhongli asks faintly.
“When exactly did you last check it?”
“Ahhh!” Zhongli holds his head in his hands in distress. Xiao found it unbearably cute. “Enough interrogation, Xiao, I wanted to relax next here with you today. You always look very much at peace here.”
“Oh,” Xiao blinks, and his cheeks slowly pinks as he processes the words. Zhongli recovers first, straightening his clothing and getting comfortable where he sits.
“By the by, I have some letters in need of replying to today.” Zhongli says. He pulls out several sheets from the oversized pockets of his cardigan and lays out the first one. A rollerball pen also emerges from the other pocket. Followed by a pair of spectacles. Xiao’s chest seizes at how the glasses make the man seem somehow even more endearing than before, obfuscating the plainly elegant lines of his face and piercing sunlight-yellow eyes. He also wonders at how many more secret items he keeps in those pockets.
Zhongli gives him a smile, eyes crinkling behind lenses. "Thank you for your company while I write today, Xiao, it is much appreciated." Xiao nods.
Xiao goes back to reading the novel he had picked up a couple days ago, but he finds himself looking up sometimes at Zhongli as the other man writes. The sight is comfortable and soothing like a warm blanket, or the scent of a freshly brewed cup of tea.
One time he glances up, and sees Zhongli already gazing in his direction. He freezes, not knowing what to say, but Zhongli simply smiles, his eyes glittering with some sentiment that makes Xiao’s heart lurch in an attempt to recognize it. But before he can grasp it, Zhongli looks away and back to his papers.
Zhongli always seems to stay late. Reading or writing into the night.
“You don’t have anyone waiting for you that you need to return to, xiansheng ?” Xiao asks one evening as he gets ready to leave.
“No, I don’t, it’s always just been me and these old books and the shop.”
“Do you get lonely?”
Zhongli turns to observe him. The arc of his ponytail is like a dance behind him.
“Oh, little Xiao. How darling of you. You don’t need to worry about me.”
He turns back to the bookshelf he had been meddling with, making a new themed section or other. “People have come and gone in my life, and while I remember them as clearly as sunlight beams in tree glades, I have learned to let them go when the time comes. So that they will shine gold in my memories.” Zhongli turns to the side at that moment, head bent. He seems lost in the past as a thought draws him into it.
Xiao is struck with the thought that Zhongli must have loved, furiously and wistfully. Looking at the untold stories in his countenance, Xiao doesn’t know how he would be able to compare to any of that. He is still learning to be human.
He had kept the store as a secret in his heart, unwilling to share with many.
But now, Xiao has a choice to make.
“You wish to stay here? With him?” Ganyu asks. Her luminous eyes boring into him. They sit in their little living room, with its three worn couches covered in the lace doilies Ganyu likes. She sits opposite of him now on the one with three cushions, back straight and graceful.
“Yes, I do.” Xiao replies.
She looks away, down at her cup of cafe au lait. “I’m happy for you, Xiao. To have found a human to stay for.”
“You know, you could be a human, and court him as they do.” Ganyu says, wryly, but not unkind. She only states the truth.
Xiao shakes his head. “I don’t know if I know how to yet, or if I can be what he wants. What I will provide for him is something that is simpler to love.”
Ganyu sighs and gives him a blessing in the form of a beatific smile fitting of her divine shape. “If that is what you want, Xiao. In that case, when you are ready to come home, come find us. In the interim, I will keep up correspondence with him, as promised.”
She stands up to walk to him and they share a rare embrace. Xiao inhales her scent of glaze lilies and home one last time, his arms clasped over her shoulders and hers around his waist.
He does the same with Qiqi, she smells like the dead of winter and crisp cranberries when he picks her up.
“Xiao- gege, leaving?”
“No, Qiqi, I’m staying behind, just for a little bit.” He strokes her bangs back from her face. He looks deep into the eyes that are searching his face.
“I think I found a human I love.” He whispers.
When she wiggles furiously he lets her down and watches as she runs to write it down in her notebook, in the same book alongside all the post-it notes Ganyu and he ever wrote for this place as well as some photos she’s taken and printed. It is time for them to move on. They tend to not stay in one location for too long, un-aging as they are. All of them come from a forgotten sect of mythical creatures. As magic is slowly forgotten and the few remaining magic users integrate into human society, Xiao is also learning to live in this new age.
What he will do next isn't completely unheard of, but it’s an easier way for him to learn about mortals without getting too entangled.
His graduation is a forgettable thing, his diploma Ganyu takes with her when she leaves with Qiqi. Before they leave, he changes into the new form he will be occupying for the foreseeable future. Ganyu sets him down outside and he gives Qiqi’s hand a little lick before he sets off on the path that he knows by heart. Because for one of the only times he remembers in his life, it is his heart that guides him.
When he gets to the bookshop, he sees something he didn’t expect.
Zhongli is standing outside the store, a cigarette in hand. The shock of witnessing the scene does not invalidate the notion that even in this, Zhongli is unfailingly graceful and composed. It’s as though his natural state is one of poise, even when relaxed.
His left hand rests at the small of his back, ponytail trailing down in a sinuous dark line, he takes in a drag of smoke from his right hand before it drops to his side, smoke trailing grey into the sky. A sigh heaves his shoulders along with a plume of smoke, and when he next tilts his head down for another, he spots Xiao.
“Oh dear!” In a moment, the cigarette is snuffed out in a little tin box that he taps against his hand before opening. Xiao almost feels bad for the genuine soft concern in Zhongli’s eyes.
With a few long strides he’s picking Xiao up into warm and soft arms, uncaring if blood from Xiao's leg --- which he happen to injure on the way here --- gets on his dark clothes. Xiao meows, inhaling his comforting scent even though it is tinged with the acrid smell of smoke.
After Zhongli cleans and bandages his leg, Xiao insists on climbing his front. Was he sad? Lonely already? Xiao had never seen him smoke in the months of their acquaintance. He licks his chin.
Zhongli exhales a chuckle-giggle that makes Xiao feel all warm and fuzzy. “Ah, little kitty, is that how you show your gratitude?”
As Xiao sits in his lap, his thumbs stroke up from his brow to his ears. He leans down, “You showed up at a good time, little one.” He whispers. His expression seems as fragile as glass, brittle. Xiao's heart is as hollow as that expression and he reaches up to press his forehead against his.
Xiao learns many new things about Zhongli now that he lives in his shop as his cat. The semester has ended and students are home for the holidays, so for the long, emptier evenings Zhongli pulls out a lacquered wooden record player, humming to himself, and he fills the shop with music.
The music he plays ranges from jazz to opera to experimental acoustic. No matter what it is, it makes him more melancholic than Xiao has ever seen him. Even when he is singing and cataloguing books, or dancing in the open areas between the door to the history shelves, every part of him seems more uncoordinated than the being he knows as Zhongli.
Xiao cannot bear it. Those are the times he darts from whatever nook he’s watching Zhongli’s undertakings from and weave between his dancing feet so Zhongli smiles down at him as he continues his going ons.
His ducking and weaving and leaps to swipe at Zhongli’s long hair grants him laughter. The best moments are when Zhongli sweeps him up in his arms to sway the two of them around the shop. Gently he tosses Xiao atop a shelf and Xiao keeps pace trotting along with him when he twirls and whisks around with a modicum more grace than before.
Other times, to keep Zhongli away from the darkness that lurks in his mind, Xiao scales up the shelves in a feat of athleticism that Zhongli politely golf claps at, then knocks miscellaneous trinkets off them and onto the ground until Zhongli goes to pick them and lectures him about the history of each one.
When he does, Xiao lays out on the shelf, indolent and indulgent to let him ramble as long as he likes. In this way, Zhongli learns that to keep Xiao from mischief he can hold him hostage and speak to him. Which is definitely a win in Xiao’s book.
It's a blessing to hear his voice strong and strident than to watch him dance like his strings are cut and sing like his throat is full of glass.
Xiao hears of the wet jungles and verdant dreams of Natlan, the brisk and fanciful thoroughfares of Fontaine, the austere calm and horizon-swallowing dunes of Sumeru, and so much more than he had found reason to explore for himself in the past. It makes him wonder what does a man like Zhongli find valuable in staying in place. But it seems a life of adventure wears down even those that seek to understand the underpinnings of the world.
A month later, Xiao stalks along the wall, tail up and swishing idly as he watches Zhongli go out to greet the mailman. He sets it on the counter next to the window before he fixes a cup of tea. Xiao sniffs. It's chrysanthemum this time, also one of Xiao's favorites.
Like any other week that the mail comes in, Zhongli sits at the front and Xiao curls up in his lap. In between opening letters his left hand comes to pet Xiao from head to tail. Xiao dozes hazily, dreaming of laying on Zhongli's chest on the couch upstairs while the man naps, like he sometimes does, before he decides it's time for him to head home — lest he falls asleep right there and wakes to an awful crick in his neck. Xiao doesn't want to wish that pain on him, but the night that he slept at the bookstore was one of the best; Zhongli's face had been lax and still like the moon reflecting on a lake. That moment felt sacred, all things were frozen in time like it is when blanketed in a landscape of snow, or when bathed in moonlight. Eternal. Xiao had felt his calling had been realized in this everlasting life of his. To make this man happy, to bring peace to him and his own.
If peace reigned in this bookstore, Xiao would have succeeded.
Xiao lays upon Zhongli's lap and dreams of that night. Purrs fill the curve of air between the soft fur of his body and Zhongli clothed in a cream-colored sweater.
It's when paper stops rustling that he is first aware that something's amiss. The rhythm of the petting is broken. As he rises from the muzzy sea of sleep he catches the smell of salt water.
The moment the thought hits his mind — that Zhongli is crying, after the many weeks it took for the smell of smoke to slowly disappear from the essence of his person — is the moment Zhongli curls inward over him. Xiao scrambles up from where he was curled, panic tangling its tendrils into his heart, but he can’t see anything, one of Zhongli’s hands covers his face as tears leak between his fingers, the long strands of his bangs are askew over his face as he cries where no one can see him.
His other hand, however —
Xiao jumps onto the counter. He sees it is clutching a letter written in his own handwriting, because Ganyu is professional at forgery and staying undercover and her plans always go through —
She has performed exactly as Xiao has asked. Continuing the farce that Xiao has moved far away, leaving Zhongli behind, but keeping up correspondence like he did with the others that had left him. But Xiao, his plan may have to be rewritten, because the tears, the depth of Zhongli’s feelings, were perhaps underestimated, he is now realizing.
Zhongli’s breath hitches painfully behind him. Xiao scrambles down to him, meowing plaintively and loudly to hope to get through to him. Zhongli sobs once, before he straightens a little, Xiao clutches at his shoulders and presses his body against him as much as he can.
“Oh, little one.” Arms wrap around him, and a wet face presses into his neck. When the shaking lessens, Zhongli leans away. Xiao can see his face, the minute frown etched into his mouth and furrow of his brow is a portrait of ageless grief. One who is used to grief, but holds it in until the day when a little thing tips him over the edge.
Zhongli’s face crumples as he says his next words, “I miss him little one.” Xiao freezes in place. Eyes wide. He feels far away from his body in this moment. He turns and watches as Zhongli leans to the letter, his thumb wipes at XIao’s name printed on the page.
He feels himself unraveling at the seams, his conviction and his doubts drifting away like smoke in the air. Zhongli’s ageless and austere countenance breaking before his eyes. His mind yells at him that if he doesn’t act now, when faced with this wreckage before his very eyes, when will he be driven to act ever?
Xiao nestles his chin over Zhongli’s shoulder and lets the powers that be unravel him from this form. What he needs at this moment, is not to be something easy to love, but something that the one who has heart needs. He feels his body elongate. Knees forming where there had only been the bend of his hindlegs. The piebald fur of his feline form receding into green hair. But he keeps his cat ears and tail. His hearing is finely honed on Zhongli's breathing. Each painful breath is a needle to in his skin. But perhaps it is necessary for him, because if he used human-like hearing he wouldn't be able to detect the quickening of his love's heart.
Quickly, he becomes cognizant of straddling Zhongli, ensconced against his body, and his arms embrace him to Xiao’s body, finally. He breathes deep the smells that he remembers as a human here, old ink and paper and fresh tea leaves, the brisk and damp of winter chill tempered with Zhongli’s warm pu erh tea scent.
“Xiao?” He hears Zhongli’s guttural voice rumble against his chest. Xiao clutches him tighter.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I thought you wouldn’t love me the same way that I loved you. I’m not human. I —”
Zhongli laughs wetly against him. “You are not the only one who isnt human, how did you think I did all that travelling? Collect so many stories?”
“But, before we talk about all of that, tell me something.” He pulls back and Xiao searches his wet eyes but at least he is smiling a little now. His eyes catch onto Xiao's lingering ears and he reaches up one large hand to stroke up from his temple and along his ear as he always did. Held safe and warm in his arms and hands, Xiao is as beholden to him as he has grown to be over the months. Completely. As naturally as breath comes to his lips.
“If I tell you the same, that I do love you. Will you promise you will not ever leave me, if you are able?”
Xiao leans forward, pressing his forehead to Zhongli’s, staring deep into bottomless honey-brown eyes.
“I promise you, Zhongli, my dear. From now on, if I was made to choose, I will choose you every time.”
He closes his eyes, and seals his oath with a kiss.
The kiss is gentle rain on Xiao’s soul, the warm sunshine of Zhongli’s presence emulated through the repetition of their lips meeting light and caressing. Zhongli’s groan against his mouth is heavy with affection and not pain. They push against each other for more, searching.
Xiao holds Zhongli’s face between his hands and lays kisses of his love all across his nose and cheeks in hopes of soothing away his tears and his pain. Forever and forever, as long as Xiao is alive.
The chrysanthemum tea sits cooling on the counter. The background fades away.