Work Text:
In the end, Xiao ironically meets his best friend at the young age of 7, as he's running away from home.
It wasn't as if he regretted his choice, far from it.
The place he called home was nothing more then a closed off place with walls and a leaking roof, the owner of it nothing more then a narcissistic monster of a birth-mother, as she berated him for even breathing in the wrong direction, and forced him through various types of torturers that she would simply call "Training sessions."
"You've always wanted to bond with me, Alatus, haven't you?" She would say, as she picks him up from the ground, her fingers digging into his throat as he choked and cried uselessly, her glare burning itself into his memory, easily one of the scariest moments of his life for many nights to come, as he tries to drown out the memory, and the name she'd given him.
His own name wasn't something she picked out of love or compassion, no, she picked it out of hatred and a mold she desperately wanted to contort him to fit into, always weirdly obsessed with the concept of power and being in charge.
And the sort of ownership over his name was just the mark she needed to show everyone about it, show the world that she considered her son to be a feral animal, forever a survivor and a monster rather then a son she would wish to cherish.
"Alatus was the name of a crimson-burning Phoenix, belonging to a fabled king of an unknown land, a dictator of sorts." She had explained to him one day, as they sat at the crooked dinner table, the light flickering, likely from half of it being shattered and still being used, not like his mother much cared if he ate her leftovers in the dark or not.
"The story was one I always loved hearing, since I could always picture myself as the king, a ruler, an owner, a highly respectable person, a person rid of all burdens everybody else was stuck to." Continuing, she would sit in her chair, as she watched her son eat on a table placed squarely on the ground, his eyes downcast, not daring to make eye contact with her, as she sighed out the last use of her cigarette, she leaned over to flick it briefly on the ash tray under her, as she glared holes in his head, before continuing, "And yet, I got stuck to the burden like everyone else, all because that fool of a man decided to have his way with me, ravaging me like an animal. At least I know where you got that trait from, scarring that meal down like it's your last."
Not daring to flinch at the snide comment, he kept eating, his eyes completely indifferent, and nothing being heard from him (besides the necessary chew he couldn't swallow away at times, although she didn't seem to mind much, he was grateful enough for that.)
"I had all the potential, all the knowledge, all the respect. People at work would always praise my name for my hard work, and everybody in my family loved me to no end. I was having a perfect life, leading to succession and love." She would feel complied to add in, as she leaned herself onto the countertop with broken glass all over it, "but now look at me. I'm stuck in this dingy old house that I managed to get by selling my body away, and having a Useless mutt always hanging off my ankle. The pathetic excuse of your father was too much of a chickenshit to even pay rent, and I have to spend every second buying things for your worthless hide, so I can't even afford a lawyer."
He would try to ignore his gut churning as she laughed bitterly, as he looked ahead, hoping to whatever God existed that she wouldn't raise her hand today, or that he wouldn't accidentally crack an odd glance her way that would send her hackles rising.
He waited for the hit, tensing up and counting up to five in his head, (getting confused on the two and three, always forgetting which one was which, and having nobody to explain it to him) while trying to close his mouth, stay silent and not make a single noise as he awaited it.
Yet it never came, only a scoff and the loud rickety sound of a cupboard being opened, as she grabbed a bottle, and firmly placed it on the counter, closing the open cupboard with much more force then necessary, opening it with a simple grinding of her teeth, as she spit out the cork of the bottle in the sink, taking a swig of it as he continued pleading to himself in his head.
But again, the thickening silence was broken by her again, as she began speaking with the air of a person who knew they were right from the get go.
"You ruined me." She said, quietly, oh so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her when she muttered those words.
"You're nothing but a hopeless failure, and nothing will ever be able to change that. I don't know how people expect me to love you, I mean, just look at you." She got up, pointing at him with an accusing finger, apparently not done for the night.
"You're the perfect picture of an ugly brat, an ungrateful miserable little waste of space. Anybody would grow sick of you if they stayed in the same room as you for longer then a few minutes. You're misery is like a contagious disease that spreads everywhere, and I'm sick of it." She yelled, animatedly, and Xiao just hoped she wouldn't resolve to letting out her anger in different means, or even worse, leave the house and then come back a week later, like she had a usual tendency to do.
Instead, what came out of her mouth was so much worse, that it almost sent the little boy Weeping in the now cold dish layed out for him.
"I can't believe I gave birth to a mistake like you." Her words sunk in deep, her tone almost explosive as she said those words in a comically silent way, conveying her hatred through her posture of dominance and glare that cowered him into compliance.
And he was supposed to be used to it, supposed to just continue on with his day, because this was normal.
It was practically a daily ritual in which his birth-mother had decided to partake in, where she would constantly insult him for ruining her life, while he tried to drown out her complaining with the sound of water constantly leaking from the unstable roof over their heads.
But, this... this had hurt.
It hurt deep, like someone further damaging an already broken limb, sadistically making it worse as he begged them to stop, otherwise helpless in every way.
Her usually barbed comments just involved his vanished father or her lovely family who turned their backs on her the moment he 'came into the picture', as she would like to say.
Yet, he didn't dare to make a comment too afraid, too unwilling, too experienced in what happened if her ever tried lashing out on her.
Instead, he just swallowed the noise, he took the insults and rooted them deep inside of him, not saying a word as she never endingly ranted about her problems as he played dead.
He played the ignorant fool, all up until the moment she left the kitchen, her quick and sharp footsteps fading into the distance as she slammed the door to the outside shut, locking it in the process.
Which promptly told him that he could let go, as he started crying, tears pouring out and wetting the plain white rice from all it's sourness.
And without another moment to spare, he started eating the rice, not commenting on the way it stuck to the upend of his mouth or the sheer blandness as he consumed it, eating it as it tasted like plain rocks and sour lemons.
And immediately cleaned up, always worried that if he left anything even a little bit unclean, that his birth-mother would suddenly pop out of a corner and smack him, before going back to his room and packing up a few of his necessary items in a small handkerchief, not having a bag or anything else, as he somehow managed to tie it into a new knot, despite shoving in much larger things inside.
And he waited, as per usual, just staring at the billboard side set right outside his window, the image of a happy mother and son glowing so bright, a round and glowing burger sitting in between them, as they laughed joyfully, even as night came down.
Their happy laughs and smiles made him feel jealous, of the fact that a simple picture had so much he could never think of getting.
So, he dreamed instead.
He stared stared the billboard long enough to study every single pore and minor detail of the two people, being able to imagine himself in the shape of the child, and his birth-mother in the shape of the adult.
He imagined how they could laugh happily for hours at a time, and never end.
He imagined his mother finally acknowledging him, not even a simple "I love you" or a "I appreciate you.", that was too much, too intimate, too close, too high of a standard.
Instead, he just imagined his mother smiling at him, looking at him so gently, and just laughing as he held the burger in his hands, "Hello, Xiao." Is all she said, as silence descended over them, even as they sat down in a crowded Cafe, with hundreds of people talking over each other.
Because he could only imagine so much, before things started seeming disingenuous.
And as he kept staring at the billboard, his mind running out of images even as he kept looking, as if he was entranced by the picture with some sort of witchcraft.
But the only thing that forced him out of his stupor was his birth-mother returning.
And it was strange, because he swore he could remember the sky being more sunny, or the place feeling much warmer.
But he didn't much care for those specifics, as he quickly grabbed the handkerchief and quickly tip-toed out of his small room, opting to scan out the living room, relieved when he found his mother laying on the couch, already on her way to dreamland.
He walked towards the doorknob, trying to shift it soundlessly, not wanting his mother to find out.
And right before he opened it, he heard a sharp gasp, as he tensed his shoulders, curling himself tightly as he awaited his mother's shouts.
And yet, all that came out was a half-snort, as she thumped back onto the couch with little fanfare.
All the tension was replaced with adrenaline, as he opened the door and ran quickly outside, not caring in particular where he was going, as he let his feet carry him, scared out of his mind at the notion of him leaving the only place he's known.
But he couldn't stop now, no way.
He kept running, and running, and running, never catching a break, even as he choked on his own spit, or twisted his own ankle, bruising it badly and ripping the thin pants he was currently wearing, simply getting up and running, even if everything was hurting.
He let the light of the sun guide him into a field filled with long white flowers, every single one looking the same, with little to no difference, no matter what direction he took.
Eventually, as he walked out of the hundredth maze of those similar flowers, he found standing face to face with a young boy, holding a bouquet filled with those white flowers, as he wrapped a teal ribbon on the paper concealing them all.
"Oh, hello! Who might you be?"
"I-I don't know." He managed to mutter out, his voice being hoarse from under-use.
The boy just laughed, walking up to him in a short period of time and handing him a flower, "Okay, I don't know! What do you want me to call you?"
"What do I... want?"
"Yeah, dummy! If you don't know, then we obviously have to come up with at least something."
"Uhm... Xiao, I want... want to be called Xiao."
"Then, you're Xiao!"
And somehow, he felt at ease with thay notion.
- - -
His new friend, who had turned out to be called Venti, was quit ethe chatty person, in turn asking him questions, and being shocked when he replied with little to nothing as a reply.
"What do you mean you've never had Ice cream, and what do you mean you don't have a home?!"
"I ran away from my mother, she never liked spending more then the bare necessities, I usually ended up eating her leftover takeout. I didn't like it there, so I ran away."
"Well, you can always stay with me and my mom!"
"Really? Would she be mad at me for coming in?"
"Of course she wouldn't, silly! Besides, I want you there, so she would want you there too!"
And it' the thought that Venti wants him here, that makes him overjoyed, and he accepts, not knowing what else to do, other then ignore the butterflies currently swirling in his stomach and his face feeling like an oven.
- - -
Years pass, and Xiao changes from the quiet boy he once was, never speaking about his feelings, to a high schooler, with one best friend he lives with.
It's... complicated, to say the least.
Venti's mother, Istaroth was willing to take him in without so much as a complaint, as she let the both of them grow, looking fondly at the both of them, and muttering about how they were going to 'eat her out of house and home if they kept growing this large.'
But she also was equally perceptive, spotting Xiao's small... definitely tiny crush for his best friend, and trying to just encourage the boy to tell his feelings.
Yet, no matter what, the two simply stayed as friends, never pushing past that, and always becoming awkward during any conversation that mentioned love and them in the same sentence.
So much so, that Venti went so far as to get a girlfriend during their sophomore year of high school.
Xiao didn't say much when Venti came slinking next to him with his girlfriend in tow, as they held hands.
Xiao didn't say a word when they showed public displays of affection, as Venti forced himself to show off to Xiao, for whatever reason.
It was fine, at least, he said it was.
After all, Eula was an amazing and competent woman, even with her infamous reputation, still working hard to get where she is and become a trusted member.
And Xiao can't help but feel bad, knowing that Venti deserves Eula so much more then Xiao would ever deserve Venti.
And it hurts to think about it all, so he opts to just grow distant, leave the house more and never socialize unless it's with Istaroth.
Venti doesn't seem to notice, in fact, he practically enables it, seeming distant in his own rights.
And it's as he notices the changes during one dinner, that he goes back to his own self.
Venti stays quiet, so he swallow the silence, Venti doesn't offer any details, so Xiao plays dead, Venti doesn't want to stay with him anymore, well, what else can he do but leave?
And so one night, without so much as a goodbye, he takes everything he's ever known, and loved so dearly, and does what he does best.
Destroy anything that ever meant to him, before leaving.
And he can't help but let out a sound of anguish when he rips out everything Venti's ever given him, bought for him and made for him, before grabbing the small suitcase of items, and getting out of the door, not bothering to leave a note.
And it's as the breeze of the dead night washes over him, he repeats the cycle of his pathetic life.
He runs away from his problems, again and again, into the night, without so much as a goodbye.