Chapter Text
There is no escape from the winter air, no matter how hard Xiao tries to burrow deeper into his comforter. It’s better than the summer sun and the bugs and sticky heat it brings with it, but it chills him to his bones and leaves him wondering if it is even worth getting out of bed. But no matter how much his mind begs his body to stay in the safe comfort of his bed, he can never beat the itch that tells him he has to do something.
Xiao claws his way out of his soft, welcoming comforter to face the true battle: his poorly insulated room. He digs out his phone to see nothing but a single text from Ganyu, informing him that she will be coming over to visit today, and a low battery notification. It’s barely eight in the morning, which makes the day all the more daunting.
“Xiao!” The call comes from down the stairs. Xiao does not feel particularly inclined to answer. Emotions he doesn’t have the energy to identify swim under his skin, exhausting his already tired brain. “I made breakfast!” The thought of food this early in the morning leaves him feeling nauseous. He sighs and swings his legs to the ground anyway; he probably won’t be any hungrier later.
He toes on a pair of slippers and stumbles out of his room, steadfastly ignoring his surely rumpled reflection and the judgment coming in waves from the photographs spread throughout his room. He slowly walks down the stairs, following the smell of what is probably some form of oatmeal.
“Oh– I figured you were still sleeping,” Zhongli is carefully placing file folders into his bag, holding a steaming mug of tea. “I have to head to work, but I should be back later tonight. I told Ganyu to come over in the afternoon.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Xiao glares.
“I know, I know,” Zhongli approaches him the way he would approach a feral cat. “I just figured it’d be nice. Ganyu says you haven’t talked to her in a while. It’ll be good for you.” He finishes his statement with a brief pat on the head and a soft smile. Xiao glares harder.
Instead of deigning Zhongli with a response, he moves to the stove to get a bowl of oatmeal. The smell makes his stomach turn, but Zhongli’s smile grows when he notices Xiao getting himself something to eat.
“I’ll call you if I’m going to be home later than six,” Zhongli says, grabbing his bag. “And please call me if you need anything.” He walks towards the door, waving goodbye. Xiao lifts his arm and lets it hang in the air limply. He will not be calling Zhongli, he does enough for him as it is.
The door closes softly, and Xiao hears the tell-tale rumbling of a car starting. He glances out the window to watch the car drive off and attempts to take a bite of oatmeal. His stomach flips unhappily. He pokes the beige lump with his spoon, trying to get it to take a better shape. He’s not sure why he expected anything different; his appetite hasn’t been the same since everything that happened in the spring.
He sighs and shakes his head. He doesn’t want to think about it. It’s easier not to think about it. Instead, he dumps the rest of his oatmeal in the trash, covering it up with a paper towel so Zhongli doesn’t get worried, and decides to take a shower.
—
Xiao isn’t sure if he’s always been an angry person or if it’s a new development. He can’t recall much of his previous self, the one before last spring—before the accident. The clouds cover the winter sun, leaving the air even colder than usual. His wet hair is freezing into small icicles, sticking out in what is sure to be an unflattering design. He can’t bring himself to care as he walks further outside, toward a small training ground Zhongli set up for him.
He pulls his long sleeves over his fingers and wraps his arms around his torso, wondering if it would have been smart to grab a coat. A sick voice inside his head reminds him that the discomfort is good; it’s deserved. He’ll survive without a coat. He shivers as he makes it to the small area with two dummies and a small punching bag. It’s not much, but it’s something to do.
Zhongli bought him the dummies and the punching bag after the accident, after Xiao refused to leave the house. He said that it would be a good activity, a way to keep up his practice in martial arts. It was a nice sentiment. It fills his stomach with guilt every time he thinks about it.
Despite his reluctance to accept the gift, Zhongli was right. It gives his body something to do, and a way to release the anger that simmers in his veins. An anger he doesn’t fully recognize; one he doesn’t know what else to do with.
The grey of the sky leaves a bleak mood behind as Xiao approaches the punching bag. He begins slowly, as he always does, throwing weak punches to test the sting in his knuckles. It’s a good sting, the kind that reminds him he’s alive.
He begins to hit harder when he gets used to the pain in his knuckles. He lets the anger that is perpetually boiling below his skin take hold of his body and control his swings. At the same time, he lets his thoughts disappear into the rhythmic thumping of fists against the canvas.
—
Ganyu finds him at noon. Xiao hasn’t stopped his punching. He moved on to the dummies after he split his knuckles on the punching bag. He can hear the crunch of her footsteps against the frozen grass. He continues to hit the dummy, hoping she’ll take the message and leave. He knows she’ll want to talk.
Xiao doesn’t want to talk. Talking means thinking and thinking means feeling and feeling means guilt. He doesn’t want to think about his guilt, much less talk about it. He doesn’t even want to confront himself, let alone anyone else. At least when Zhongli keeps an eye on him under the guise of working from home, he leaves Xiao alone aside from bringing the occasional meal.
“Xiao,” Ganyu greets. Xiao punches the dummy again, watching it sway. “I brought lunch.”
Xiao kicks the dummy as hard as he can, watching it flip over. He sighs and turns around. The sight of Ganyu with a pink nose, swaddled in at least three layers, and holding a brown bag greets him. Her ice blue hair is stark against her pale skin. She looks like she hasn’t slept well in a long time. Xiao feels guilt begin to tug at the edges of his mind. He nods toward the house, hoping she gets the message, and begins walking.
Her hurried footsteps sound behind him as she begins to follow. When they reach the house he reaches out to open the door.
“Xiao,” she gasps, moving one hand to cover her mouth, eyes wide with worry.
“What,” he grits out.
“What happened to your hands?” She moves her hands again to grasp his. He looks down and sees his knuckles, which have been pulverized into a bloody mess.
“Nothing,” he says defensively, grabbing his hand back and cradling it toward his chest. “You should really learn personal space, maybe you’d make more friends that way.” It’s a low blow and they both know it. He wants her to leave and he’s lashing out like a cornered animal.
“Will you at least let me clean them?” She looks sad. Xiao knows he hasn’t seen her in months–hasn’t seen anyone in months–and he doesn’t really want to ruin this, but his anger is safe. If he stays angry, he doesn’t have to feel anything else. He clutches his hand closer to his chest. The weather makes her eyes look dim and Xiao feels the urge to hit himself in the head.
“Fine,” he forces, walking into the house. Ganyu trails behind him, briefly going upstairs to find the first aid kit before returning. He sits at the kitchen table making a conscious effort to unclench his jaw. He forces air through his nose and counts to three. This is good , he reminds himself, you need to talk to people . His body slowly relaxes as he repeats the same mantra over and over again.
Ganyu sits next to him, pulling out alcohol wipes and guaze. She holds out her hand and Xiao feels a pang of guilt at the fact that she didn’t grab it again. He knows Ganyu can be sensitive enough to a fault. Xiao never thought he would be one to hurt her, but, then again, he never thought a lot of things would happen.
She gently rubs his skin with the alcohol wipe. It hurts, but it isn’t anything unexpected. He asked for this pain, so he shouldn’t complain. Ganyu bites the inside of her cheek. Both of them are avoiding eachothers gaze. Xiao doesn’t want to break the silence. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s better than conversation.
“Why didn’t you wrap your hands?” Her eyes are still sad and she looks like she’s going to cry. Xiao’s not sure why; they’re not her hands.
He doesn’t know how to respond. He’s not sure why he doesn’t wrap his hands. He doesn’t want to tell her that he likes the sting without the wrapping. He doesn’t want to say that the pain makes it easier for him to let his thoughts drift away. He doesn’t want to say that he likes the ability to control the pain in his body. He doesn’t want to say anything that will make her look at him any more differently than she already does. He especially doesn’t want to say anything she’ll feel the need to tell Zhongli. Zhongli already worries enough.
So he just says: “I never wrap my hands.”
Her following sigh means it’s not a good answer. She puts the gauze over his knuckles and begins to wrap a bandage around it.
“You know,” she starts, taping the bandage down. Xiao tenses. “Shouldn’t you be taking better care of yourself? Wouldn’t they –”
Xiao stands abruptly, snatching his hand back harshly. “Don’t.” He bites out, avoiding her eyes.
“Xiao, don’t you think it’s time to talk–”
“Get out.” He barely chokes out the words. He can feel the lump that perpetually resides in the back of his throat grow bigger. He squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his hand, shakily pointing to the door.
“Xiao, please,” Ganyu sounds like she’s about to cry. “Can we please just talk?”
“I said get out.” Xiao can’t bring himself to look into her eyes. Guilt wraps itself around his stomach, squeezing it tight, making him feel like he’s about to puke. Ganyu doesn’t deserve this . But he won’t talk about it—he can’t .
Xiao hears Ganyu’s footsteps walking to the door. He doesn’t want to watch her leave. He doesn’t want to see the look he put on her face. He hears the door creak open.
“I’ll be here whenever you’re ready,” Ganyu speaks softly into the frigid air between them. Xiao doesn’t respond. He clenches his fist, trying to feel his nails dig into his palm. His broken skin pulls over his knuckles and tears sting in his eyes.
The door creaks shut, and Xiao is left alone once again. The air is even colder than it was. He’s left wondering in the silence if he made the right choice.
—
He goes back to the dummies, like he always does. There is a certain calmness to be found in the rhythmic motions of hitting them. His knuckles are bleeding through the bandages Ganyu put on and his feet feel bruised. He isn’t focusing on technique anymore; he just wants to stop thinking, stop the choking guilt from squeezing his stomach.
The air bites at his ears, but he can barely feel it. It’s easy to escape space and time. Sometimes, it feels like he’s staring down at another self; he feels unclear, like he’s staring into a smudged mirror or watching a reflection of himself. He watches himself punch the dummies, watches his knuckles leave blood stains behind, but he can’t feel the sting or the anger or anything at all really.
“-ao.” All he knows is the thump thump thump of his fists against the dummies. It’s like he’s in another reality. One where he didn’t yell at Ganyu. One where he can get out of bed every day. One where nothing bad has happened yet.
“Xiao!” There’s a hand on his shoulder and he’s being pulled back. The hand feels light and when he stares down at it he can’t tell if it’s really there.
“Yeah?” He says, but not really. His voice is far away and it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from his own throat. Xiao squeezes his eyes shut, relishing in the dizzying black stars behind his eyelids.
“Xiao, are you okay?” It’s Zhongli. He’s home from work early. “Yes, Ganyu called and I figured I would come check in.” Oh , Xiao thought, I said that out loud .
“I’m fine,” Xiao pushes out, wetting his dry lips. “You should go back to work.”
He hears Zhongli’s sigh and feels the hand on his shoulder tighten. Everything is starting to come back to him. He can feel the air a little more and his hands hurt. He doesn’t want to be standing here pathetically with bloody knuckles. He doesn’t want Zhongli here watching him. He’s supposed to be getting better. He just wants to do better.
“I’m all done for the day,” Zhongli decides, a definitive tone to his voice. “Why don’t we have some tea?”
Xiao isn’t sure he can keep tea down at the moment, but he doesn’t want to tell Zhongli that, so he just nods. He can tell he is always worrying Zhongli by the deepening crease between his eyebrows and perpetual frown on his face. He knows he’s being greedy, staying with Zhongli, taking up his space. It adds to his guilt, but he has nowhere else to go. Part of him thinks Zhongli should just kick him out. He wouldn’t be upset, he’d understand.
Zhongli leads him inside, somehow conjuring a blanket to wrap Xiao in before sitting him down at the kitchen table.
He starts making tea. Xiao wants to claw his way out of his own skin.
—
“Xiao,” Zhongli hands him a steaming cup of tea. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He’s staring at the bloody mess Xiao made of his hands.
“I’m fine,” Xiao says again, avoiding eye contact.
“You’re shaking.” Zhongli’s right. Xiao watches the liquid in his tea cup waver with his hands.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” It’s a better thing to say. It’s not a lie and they both know it.
“You can’t keep it to yourself forever,” Zhongli pauses, blowing onto his tea. “It’s too heavy of a burden to hold on your own.”
Xiao stares at his cup of tea. His reflection is warped by the small waves in the liquid. He doesn’t know how to explain his feelings. He’s not sure if he even wants to.
“I need to hold it,” he says, but that’s not quite right. “I need to feel it,” he corrects himself. It’s all I have left , he doesn’t say.
Zhongli hums, taking a sip of his tea.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Xiao says again, glaring at his reflection.
“Okay,” Zhongli says reluctantly. Xiao knows he’ll let it go. He never pushes. Xiao isn’t sure if that’s a good thing.
They sit in silence sipping their tea. The warmth seeps down Xiao’s throat, filling his stomach, relaxing the constricting feeling that has been present since the morning.
“Well, I need to finish some paperwork,” Zhongli starts. Xiao wants to bring up the fact that he said he finished early, but he’s tired of being cruel. “Maybe you could go to the store? We need tomatoes for dinner.”
Xiao stares blankly at Zhongli. They both know Xiao hasn’t left the house in months.
“It’s just around the corner,” he continues, ignoring Xiao’s sudden tenseness. “It isn’t even busy this time of day.”
And Xiao wants so badly to decline. He feels anger sizzling through his bones, but the guilt is there too. Zhongli has done everything the past few months. Xiao hasn’t done anything. He hasn’t even paid rent.
“I don’t know if I can.” It’s better than a denial. It’s the best he can do.
“I’ll have my phone on me and it’s right around the corner,” Zhongli responds. “Why don’t you give it a try.” He’s smiling like he knows Xiao will do it. Xiao hates that he’s right. “It’ll be good to go out, see the world.” He’s pushing his luck.
“Fine,” Xiao agrees reluctantly. He needs to prove that he can stay here anyway. Zhongli beams and pats him on the head. Xiao can already feel the anxiety tightening his veins.
He wishes he could tell Zhongli no. He wants to go back to his bed or out to the training grounds. He squeezes his fists, feeling the stinging pain. It’s grounding, but only barely.
“Call me if you need anything, seriously.” Zhongli looks happier than he has in a while. Xiao is just glad that he can’t see the line between his brows.
“I’ll go after I finish my tea,” Xiao says, silently vowing to make this cup of tea last an eternity.