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One Fatui agent, Aether could handle. He didn’t even have enough fingers to count how many one-on-one confrontations he’s bested a stealth agent or a mirror maiden — even the mages summoning swarms of cicins to their side barely stood a chance against him. A pair of Fatui? So long as he wasn’t stuck in a perpetual combo of frost, he was usually fine, perhaps making it out of the whole ordeal with naught but a cut on his arm from a momentary lapse of judgement. Hell, he’d even faced three separate Fatui harbingers and come out of it alive, really some nameless lackeys should be a walk in the park.
And yet, after dusting off various agents all in a row, he stumbles.
A stealth agent — ever the bane of his existence — emerges from their cloak of shadows, shoving a quick elbow into his back, sending his knees to the ground. He tries to turn and face them but he's met with a foot to his wrist, knocking his sword a long ways away, then a following knee to his skull. He’s pressed into the dirt in an instant, boot now pressed to his back.
Something snaps.
The agent leans forward, pressing their entire weight into his back as they casually reach for his braid. And yank.
Still, Aether bites back whatever pitiful scream builds in his chest. It’s rather easy with a mouth full of the dirt his lungs are compressed into. In a rather ditch attempt, Aether fumbles behind his back until his fingers slip around the boot pressed into him, and tries to tug his assailant off balance. In result, the agent barely budges, and he’s now greeted with a too-warm glove wrapped around his wrist, that only gets warmer with every passing second.
His leather gloves are heat resistant, usually. Aether’s not exactly sure there’s any material that can withstand the heat of a forging iron.
His arm is twisted further back, until it bends under an impossible angle; the fiery fingers pressed to the elemental thrum of his wrists melt into him, drawing the faintest hiss from his skin along with the distinct smell of something burning — and his shoulder dislocates.
The agent now twists his elbow to press into the small of his back. They teasingly wrap the length of his hair around their free hand, and yank it again. This time, Aether hears the pricks echoing in his skull as a patch of hair rips from it.
The heel of the boot sinks harsher into a divot in his spine as this time, the Fatuus slips fingers into the base of his hair and tugs his head back. His throat cinches under the harsh angle, when he can finally make out a glimpse of their lifeless mask in his peripheral.
“What… do you… want?” He rasps out, mentally cursing the wetness that builds in his eyes as his arm is contorted even further.
The stealth agent says nothing, abruptly releasing him and standing away. He immediately falls back into the dirt, weakly heaving. Whatever pain he might feel is nulled by the adrenaline that races through his veins, but it can’t hide it all. His arm is completely immobile. His throat wheezes with every breath that passes.
He’s sure there’s a chunk of blond severed on the ground.
Still, with the stubbornness that gets him into all sorts of prickly situations, Aether sits up, turning over his shoulder to glare at the agent who blankly stares back. He glances at his sword, a metre away.
A mistake.
The agent lunges forward, flaming fist seared to his throat as they press harder, and harder, undeterred by Aether’s flailing body beneath him. It burns, everything burns. His scalp, his shoulder, his spine, his wrist, his neck, his lungs, his heart, burn and burn and boil him alive. He smells the bitter tang of charring flesh. His vision blacks out. He hears the abrupt whirring of wind, and the last thought he has is that at least, death would feel better than this.
When he wakes, he immediately begs to fall back into slumber. His body aches, and the air is too cold, cold enough to burn him still. Attempting to move his arm, he realises his shoulder has been popped back into place, sore as it is; and when he swallows, he feels the shift of soft bandages over his throat. Blearily, he blinks at the warm light of a medical room, eyeing the bowl by his bedside with a lot more effort than usual.
He hears the gentle drip of a towel wring above it, before tender hands lay it across his wrist, and a gloved finger softly traces over his forehead, shifting an itching strand of hair away. The finger trails daringly down his cheek before flitting away, and Aether hears the muted gasp this caring stranger emits, likely having noticed the wide state of his eyes. Aether attempts to turn and look at them, but they quickly press a hand to his chin and keep him staring at the ceiling.
“Yes I know Liyue has interesting ceiling architecture—” Aether coughs, swallowing up whatever remained of his dry comment as his throat vehemently protests against being used.
The person beside him tsk’s softly. “You are not well-versed in the acts of resting,” they murmur, and oh, Aether would recognise that voice anywhere.
“X-Xiao?” He coughs again, this time more eager in his endeavour to turn and look at the man, but Xiao, again, easily prevents him from agitating his neck further with a firm finger pressed to his jaw.
“Traveller,” he acknowledges, “you are currently in Bubu Pharmacy. I brought you here after I… found you. Your injuries were quite severe, so Doctor Baizhu has demanded I ensure you rest thoroughly.”
Finally, Xiao tilts forward, his dark hair draping across his face as he meets Aether’s gaze properly. As ever, he’s beautiful, even with a stubborn frown etched into his brow. Aether reaches up instinctually to caress his cheeks that are surely made of silken almond tofu, but Xiao quickly bats the touch away, gently laying his wrist back on the bed.
“Truly, do you lack the comprehension to understand what rest means?” Xiao sighs, quiet even in his exasperation. Delicately, his eyes flutter shut, and Aether silently admires the way his dark lashes contrast his pale cheeks. Xiao whispers, almost too quiet for Aether to hear. “I thought I lost you.”
“Don’t worry,” Aether manages to wheeze out, “I’m still here and kicking. Even if it still feels like I’m on fire.”
Xiao opens his eyes slowly, his gaze heavy as it drags over his face with the attentiveness of a lover. Great, now Aether’s cheeks, too, were burning — and Xiao frowns deeper at the sight of it. “Have you contracted a fever, too?” He asks, quickly tugging his glove between his teeth to bare his hand as he lays the back of it across Aether’s forehead, unknowingly making the flush even worse.
“Ah— no, I’m fine,” Aether breathes, his heart thrumming. At least this warmth was a lot more pleasant. “Just… flustered.”
Xiao pauses, slowly retracting his hand to stare into Aether’s eyes. Quickly he stands back upright, rendering himself out of Aether’s field of vision — but Aether couldn’t miss the way his face had already turned pink at his declaration. Xiao clears his throat rather loudly. “You… should rest properly. Do not concern yourself with my presence, I am only here to tend to your wounds and grant you a pleasant sleep.”
Aether finds a soft smile tugging his lips as Xiao rambles, daring once more to reach out and loosely link a finger with Xiao’s, effectively pausing his speech. He hears Xiao turn abruptly back to him, and manages even a soft laughs at that.
“Thank you, Xiao,” he whispers, “for protecting me.”
“…It is my honour, Aether.”
True to Xiao’s words, the slumber he falls into is a peaceful one indeed.