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  A couple of days have passed, and Xiao is… in a state. Archons forbid he return to the condition Morax found him in, but it isn’t looking good.

  There has been a gap of sorts in Xiao’s chest since he departed from Aether’s bedchambers those few nights ago. Not literally, of course, but figuratively it feels as though a cavern has opened up, wide and gaping, right above his heart. And, most disparagingly, he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

  It isn’t his karmic debt; he’s been taking his medicine regularly (at both Doctor Baizhu and Zhongli’s vehement behest). It isn’t an issue with his clothing; he had very meticulously checked over his shirt for any rips near his pecs. It isn’t his accessories; none of them are missing and none of them are broken. Most of all, there aren’t any actual orifices in his body that shouldn’t be there, so it’s not a superficial injury causing this odd feeling, either.

  It’s Aether, whispers a niggling voice in the back of his mind. You want to see Aether again. It sounds an awful lot like Ganyu, so Xiao dismisses it; he would rather dive head-first back into the Chasm than admit, even in the safety of his own head, that she might have been right when she read his relationship with Aether to filth.

  He doesn’t want to keep adding to the I Will Think About It Later Except I Will Never Think About It Later box – filling it to the brim seems like an unhealthy idea – but, for the first time in his long life, Xiao simply doesn’t know what else to do. Things have never been this way; he has never had so little to do, so few monsters to fight, so many feelings to detangle, and so many new experiences to grapple with. Zhongli would tell him it’s just part of living like a mortal, and Xiao would scoff in response – except, things are becoming much too dire for him to settle for a scoff. He thinks he would go for something along the lines of the noise a hilichurl might make if its skeletal structure was evaporating from the inside.

  All of that to say, Xiao is rather overwhelmed with how his life is developing. He almost wishes he could go back to when he was still convinced his purpose was to melee; his psyche was easier to navigate back then. He had less free time, less opportunities to introspect. It was a simpler life.

  But, it was a life that no-one would be particularly pleased with Xiao returning to. And as appealing as it sounds right now, Xiao knows himself well enough to acknowledge his preference for peace over violence.

  With that in mind, Xiao dutifully files his growing – aching – desperation to see Aether into his little mind box, and tries to move on from it. He’ll confront it when The Box^TM becomes too heavy to ignore, and only then.

  As with everything Xiao tries to do these days, it’s easier said than done.

  On the empty days where Aether is too busy to make an attempt at coaxing the adeptus to sleep, Xiao usually still finds traces of the traveller around Liyue. Sometimes Xiao will return from a perimeter sweep of the Inn and find a plate of Almond Tofu waiting for him in the kitchen; other times he’ll be tending to his polearm when Aether’s voice will float up the stairs, hurriedly telling Verr, “I’ve got to run, but could you make sure this artefact gets to Xiao?” And sometimes when Xiao goes to investigate a rise in dark energy, he’ll arrive at the scene to find it already handled – bodies of infected enemies cleanly dropped in the grass, camp huts looted, stolen goods returned – with only the residual karma left for him to consume.

  There’s been none of that recently. Xiao hasn’t seen hide nor hair of the decorated traveller since his retreat from the teapot realm. Colour him concerned (and add his worry to The Box^TM, while you’re at it) but Aether is an objectively captivating being. His outlander garbs get caught on the eye, he fights with the saddest, dullest sword Xiao has ever had the displeasure of seeing and wins, and he switches between elements like they’re seasonal ornaments instead of the driving forces of the natural world. It’s difficult to not see Aether when he draws attention wherever he goes.

  Of course, it’s only been a few days. Aether could very well be taking a short break, keeping to himself for once. But as much as Xiao would like to believe it (even the Heavenly Principles must know how tightly the traveller is strung these days), he isn’t at all convinced. A great many people have tried their hand at getting Aether to so much as pause in his sojourning, and a great many people have been unsuccessful. Xiao’s heard the phrase “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” floating around – it seems to have been coined just for the traveller.

  So, here Xiao sits on the edge of his private balcony at the Inn, watching the horizon and gnawing on his bottom lip. Perhaps I should search for Aether, he thinks. There is a non-zero chance that he’s gotten himself into trouble. Why else would it have been so quiet recently? No-one has been accepting Guild commissions or bounties. No-one has been robbing the local habitats of their fauna and fruit. An issue is most certainly presenting itself; what else might happen if Aether remains absent?

  He has a sudden realisation. His lip falls from where it was captured between his teeth, his pupils blow wide… and a light flush tints his cheeks and the tips of his ears; Oh, Archons, what if Aether thinks I’m too… clingy?

  And, really, that should not be on Xiao’s list of things to worry about right now. Aether could’ve been kidnapped, buried alive, drowned, tied with unbreakable knots to the trunk of a tree – any number of awful things could have overcome the traveller. Angsting over whether or not he might tease Xiao for going out of his way to find him is, realistically, a waste of time given how much Aether teases him anyway – but Xiao has a reputation. And he can’t let his reputation with Aether become tarnished.

  (Why? Ask The Box^TM.)

  He battles with himself for a while: search for Aether and risk developing a stupid nickname denoting his inability to live without the traveller, or don’t search for Aether and risk Teyvat falling apart because no-one came to help the traveller when he finally met his match? In the end, his fear that Aether might literally be dead somewhere wins over his fear that his cold, calculating reputation might be ruined – and rightfully so, Xiao scolds himself.

  It’s just as Xiao jumps down from his perch upon the balcony rails that he hears it: his name whispered by the wind, barely-there but urgent all the same. It gives Xiao pause. The call comes from beyond Liyue, uttered by a voice he doesn’t recognise – and their butchering of his name gives way to the fact that whoever’s calling for him doesn’t know who he is, either.

  At first, Xiao tries to ignore it, figuring that maybe the wind mistakenly brought him something that sounded like his name. But the hurried quality of the summon has him changing his mind. He has no obligation to do battle for others full stop, let alone outside of Liyue, but he’s hard-pressed to ignore someone asking for his help. And, besides, he’s curious as to the origin of his summoning.

  Aether can wait for a couple more minutes; he’ll be fine. Probably. So Xiao latches on to the wind’s breeze, allowing himself to be swallowed by aquamarine butterflies into the darkness of teleportation.

  When his vision finally clears, he’s met with what he soon realises is a regrettably familiar sight; two great oak doors embedded into multiple semicircular-arches loom graciously in front of him with narrower entryways on either side of it. Xiao looks up, and there he finds the rest of the towering cathedral in all its romanesque glory – tall, sharp spires adorning the thick stone outer walls, rose and lancet stained-glass windows galore, three mighty towers dominating the air space with their vicious jade-coloured peaks…

  He doesn’t need to look at the fiery red banners flanking the main entrance to know where he is. He doesn’t need to turn around to know that there’s an impossibly huge statue even greater than the cathedral sat in the city’s central plaza, omnipresent and vigilant. He doesn’t need to see the dozen brick rooftops he knows are beyond the dominating sculpture, or the square fortress housing the city’s knighthood, or the city’s defensive wall protecting the civilians – Xiao already knows exactly where he’s been summoned to.

  … He’s in Mondstadt.

  By his own standards, good things never happen in Mondstadt. The few visits to the City of Freedom he’s had to endure have always begun with the impromptu appearance of a certain bard and have always ended with the loss of Xiao’s inhibitions to alcohol. But it’d be a lie to say that he doesn’t like Mondstadt. There’s something very warm, very comforting about the small city that gives it a somewhat sleepy aura despite the bustling of the people; visiting feels like coming home after a long day of work.

  On his left stands a girl with a hydro vision decked out in a deaconesses uniform, wringing her hands together and staring at Xiao with wide eyes.

  “You’re Xiao?” she asks, inching slightly closer to him. Her demeanour is gentle, her hair bouncing as she inclines her head towards him – Xiao thinks she must be a healer. He ignores how her pronunciation of his name sounds more like ‘zhi-ow’; she really is quite young.

  “I am,” he confirms. “You called for me?”

  The girl nods vigorously. “Yes, I… I didn’t think it would work, I thought he was just being delirious, but, well, Venti said that he knew you and you’d come if someone called, and…” She takes a deep breath while Xiao focuses his energy on not imploding with irritation at Barbatos’ apparent involvement. “My name is Barbara – I’m a deaconess with the Church of Favonius. We have a… bit of a situation? That we – that is, the Knights of Favonius – were hoping you might be able to help us with?”

  Barbara’s hedging of every other sentence belies her fear, so Xiao makes the effort to soften his face and relax his body to ease her. “I assure you,” he says, “I can handle anything; how might I assist you?”

  Barbara stammers, becoming more and more unsure as the conversation moves forward. “Yes, Venti did say you’re an… adeptus? I’m not quite familiar with Liyue’s mythology, but from what Venti said it sounds like you’re a warrior of sorts? And quite an honoured one, at that.”

  Xiao nods in acknowledgement. It’s rather refreshing to speak to someone who has literally no idea who Xiao is. The strangers lucky enough to catch a glimpse of him back in Liyue tend to drop to their knees in worship – sometimes they’ll beg him for a blessing, other times they’ll thank him for his service. For all Xiao used to demand the respect of the mortals, Barbara’s cluelessness about his kind is… nice.

  “Our situation won’t really require you to fight anything, exactly, just…” The deaconess trails off, eyes darting around in her uncertainty. Xiao’s curiosity has definitely piqued. “I told them we shouldn’t bother you – I really think this’ll be a waste of your time. You’re a fighter, not a… And we’re so far from Liyue, you must be so out of your element here…”

  “You called for me, so I will help you,” says Xiao, lifting his hands placatingly. “It is as simple as that. Whatever you need, I will do my best to deliver. Nothing is too great a request."

  Barbara battles with herself for a moment, looking utterly torn, but ultimately she breathes a resigned sigh: “If you’re sure. I suppose… it’d be easier to just show you the issue instead of trying to describe it.”

  She gestures for Xiao to follow her, leading him into the Favonius Cathedral and through the glittery halls towards the very back of the building. For a reason Xiao can’t place, he feels that whatever Mondstadt has to ask of him will be far more taxing than battling a few monsters.

  He’s right. Because of course he is.

  When they reach the back of the cathedral, Barbara pulls Xiao through a door he quickly discovers leads to the infirmary. Only one of the cots is being used, but the room is full of people surrounding the single patient – and Xiao soon finds out why.

  The patient is a nightmare. Xiao only has to watch from behind the crowd for a matter of seconds before that much is apparent. It’s a surprise no-one’s tied him down to the bed with how heartily he’s kicking and screaming; a man with fluffy blonde hair tries to take a swab from the patient’s mouth, but the patient jerks to bite the man’s hand and aims a kick at his sternum. A woman wearing a witch’s hat hurriedly pulls the man out of harm’s way, and they share a look. Xiao spies Venti loitering behind them, beyond amused.

  The woman in the witch hat discards the failed swab, then abandons the fluffy-haired man’s side to converse with two bystanders on the other side of the cot – a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Barbara and a man with hair redder than a jueyun chilli. The fluffy-haired man holds his hand out, and a man wearing an eyepatch standing at the foot of the bed passes him something. It crinkles; it’s another swab packet. The patient groans with his entire chest at the sound, and it’s then that Xiao has a realisation.

  The patient is Aether.

  Xiao hadn’t even been able to tell. The traveller has been changed out of his typical attire in favour of a plain, thin set of pyjamas, and his hair has been pulled into a staticky bun on the top of his head. A mask sits askew under his jaw, lowered whilst his caretakers try in vain to swab a sample from his mouth, and the tanned skin on his nose and cheeks is tinted red. His sweat leaves behind a shiny sheen that highlights the bruises under his eyes. He’s restless – tossing and turning even when no-one’s touching him.

  Compared to how composed Aether appeared the last time Xiao had seen him, mere days ago, the picture he paints in the infirmary is startling to say the least.

  “The Traveller is sick,” he states lowly to Barbara, who had paused next to him to observe the chaos.

  She hums in the affirmative. “He’s caught a virus of unknown origins. We don’t currently know how to treat him; his symptoms haven’t changed since we isolated him and we… can’t get close enough to take a viable sample. I tried healing him, but there’s no external issue for my Vision to grasp.”

  A series of metal clangs ring out, bouncing off the walls – Aether, in a show of strength unbefitting of someone so ill, has pushed a metal cart full of medical supplies into his neighbouring cot. Instruments of all sorts fall to the ground and the cart itself tips over on top of them.

  The fluffy-haired man heaves a long-suffering sigh, looking up at the ceiling as though begging for a deity to end his suffering. Meanwhile, the actual deity present does nothing but laugh – although he does right the cart with a flick of his hand once he catches his breath. In the interim, the man with the eyepatch and the man with the jueyun-chilli-hair have resorted to physically restraining Aether, both of them taking one of his legs to sit on and one of his arms to grasp. Barbara’s older look-alike cleans up the mess on the floor and hands the invalid equipment to the woman in the witch hat, who promptly leaves to find replacements. And Aether… chumbles at the air, undulating on the bed to dislodge the two men.

  “Was he bitten by a stray dog recently?” It’s a genuine question.

  Barbara offers him a wry smile. “Rabies was our first assumption; we checked him for bite marks when he was admitted, but he has none.”

  And it really speaks volumes that the first thought of the professionals was rabies. What Xiao is seeing is probably only the tip of the iceberg. “Do you think your team will be able to figure out the root cause quickly?”

  “I’ve employed all sorts of help to figure out what’s wrong with him,” Barbara tells him, solemn. “Albedo – ah, the man with the short blonde hair, wearing the lab coat – is an alchemist, and Lisa, the lady in all purple, studied in Sumeru. We figured they might have a better understanding of what’s happening because of their backgrounds, but so far they’ve had no luck. Kaeya – the taller man, blue hair, eyepatch – is kind of a package deal with Albedo, so he tagged along. Jean, my sister, is quite fond of the Traveller, so she wanted to check in on him and brought Diluc along for… extra muscle. And Venti…” Barbara’s face becomes vacant, a dark look shadowing over her features as she watches the bard poke at Aether’s cheek. “Venti….”

  A little cryptic, but Xiao assumes there’s some history between Barbatos and the girl he isn’t privy to, so he dismisses it. “How long has the Traveller been… indisposed like this?”

  Barbara snaps out of her daze. “We think about a day, but we aren’t sure. He kind of just stumbled into Mondstadt this morning and Katheryne was concerned, so she hailed the church. He’s been like this since.”

  “The last time I saw him was three days ago,” Xiao shares; he suspects he’s been called to give them more information. “He was in good health, then.”

  “So, he could’ve contracted this virus anywhere between one and three days ago.” Barbara nods, thoughtful. “That might be helpful; I’ll let Albedo and Lisa know, when Lisa comes back.”

  And then a hefty weight barrels into Xiao’s side. The only thing stopping him from taking a bite of the infirmary tiles is the pair of arms wrapped breath-stoppingly tight around his waist. A face nuzzles into his neck – Xiao looks down to see a green beret-like hat with a cecilia flower sticking out of its band.

  “I’ve felled worse gods than you,” he whispers, and the arms disappear at the speed of light. Magic!

  Venti, in all of his bubbly, insouciant, punchable glory, stands in front of him, arms held obediently behind his back. “It’s been such a long time, Xiao!” He says it like the words are bursting from his mouth, as if holding them in for any longer would literally kill him.

  (That’s too much to ask of Celestia.)

  “Yes,” Xiao answers through gritted teeth. He doesn’t know what else to respond with.

  The bard – clearly forgetting Xiao’s threat in the face of his excitement – grabs his arm and bodily drags him forward into the fray of people (who, Xiao now notices, each possess their own Visions, so it seems Barbara really did pull out all the stops for her patient). “Everyone,” he sings, “my lovely dear friend Xiao has heeded our plea for help!”

  Xiao so, so badly wants to say something about the status of their ‘friendship’ being put in dreadful jeopardy the longer Venti touches him, but he refrains. Namely because he now has multiple people staring at him with varying degrees of interest and caution.

  “Didn’t think you were telling the truth,” grunts Diluc as he dodges what could have been a debilitating bite.

  “I told you he could be summoned—”

  “No; I didn’t think you had friends outside of the people in this room.”

  Again, Xiao wants to make a comment, but he settles for pulling a deeply unimpressed face. Venti’s nails find a home in Xiao’s forearm, tugging the adeptus closer to him as he responds to Diluc with an affronted gasp. “I have plenty of friends, thank you. Shut up, Xiao.”

  “I didn’t say anything!”

  “No, but you were going to. Your aura alone was slandering me.”

  “Perhaps if you’d stop using my arm as a scratch-post,” Xiao sneers, “my aura would be less inclined to slander you.”

  Barbara watches the two of them wearily, then decides she’d rather not deal with the extra stress in her infirmary: “I’m going to go check on Lisa, then report to Grace. Um, try not to break anything while I’m gone. Including each other’s bones.” And she leaves.

  All is quiet. Aether’s fight evaporated from his body somewhere along the way and he’s taken to just laying there, breathing heavily. Diluc and Kaeya don’t drop their guard but they use the moment of peace to gauge their visitor – and Xiao, them, because Kaeya’s one visible eye has a distinctly star-shaped pupil that raises his hackles. Do the Mondstadters know what it means to have eyes like Kaeya’s, or do they just not care? Albedo, too, has a similar mark over the hollow of his neck – the presence of Khaenri’ah is strong, but simultaneously right beneath Barbatos’ nose. Barbatos might be a fool, but if either Kaeya or Albedo were threats to his city he wouldn’t tolerate them; if he trusts them, then Xiao has no reason not to.

  Jean and Diluc, meanwhile, are totally normal to the naked eye. She is dressed to the nines in Favonius-style attire while he wears a simple get-up consisting of a shirt, tie, plain trousers, and a long overcoat. Though Jean clearly holds more legal authority between the two of them, Diluc brings with him an intense presence that belies a well-respected reputation and hints at there being something beyond the man he presents himself as. Xiao noticed a similar thing about Lisa, too – on the surface the woman is only a meek librarian, but that isn’t where the tale ends. She moves without rush, but her time is running short.

  Again, Xiao has to imagine what the stories are with this odd collection of Mondstadters. How did two Khaenri’ahns land themselves in the same city? How did Lisa end up with half of the average mortal life expectancy? What is it about Diluc that demands reverence? So many questions, not enough tact to ask.

  The same can’t be said for his audience. The longer they observe one another, the more visibly inquisitive they become; Kaeya’s head tilts as he gazes at the vajra hanging from his neck, Jean is fixed on the diamond symbol on his forehead, and Albedo can’t seem to choose one thing to focus on if the rapid darting of his pupils is indicative of anything.

  He’s the first one to succumb to his curiosity: “Venti said you’re an adeptus, yes?” he asks, scribbling something down on his small notepad – Xiao doesn’t know if he’s still making notes on Aether or if the subject has switched to him. “Of the yaksha species? Is it true that you are the last of your kind?”

  “Yes,” answers Xiao, uncomfortable. Not only does the subject of his dead siblings throw him for a loop, but he’s suddenly remembered what Paimon told him about Albedo: he eats spiders.

  The alchemist hums. “You are quite the interesting specimen.”

  “Thank you… I think.”

  “Please, don’t mind him,” Jean says, placing a hand on the blonde man’s shoulder and squeezing lightly. “Albedo has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. We… don’t have any adepti here.”

  Xiao eyes them. “Yes, I… I know.”

  “Those markings.” Albedo, kindly, doesn’t put his spider-eating hands on Xiao, instead simply pointing at his arm and forehead with his pencil. “Do they represent something? Do other adepti have them?”

  “On my forehead is what you might call a third eye,” Xiao dutifully explains. There’s a dull excitement in his core at the prospect of getting to share about himself what most never think to wonder about. For all of Albedo’s spider-eating tendencies, he knows how to ask the right questions. “Those of us who possess the innate ability to manipulate the elements have them; they are comparable to your Visions.”

  “So,” says Jean, “your Vision…?”

  “Is false,” Xiao confirms. “I wear it as part of my human form to comply with mortal standards.”

  Venti beams, jumping on the spot. “It was a gift from me, back in the old days!”

  It’s remarkable, really, that Venti kept his true identity totally hidden for as long as he did. It’s also remarkable that Celestia hasn’t decided to revoke his seat among the Seven yet. His subjects seem to agree; Diluc scoffs from his seat on Aether and Jean looks very much like she wants to put her head in her hands. Kaeya has the decency to look away and pretend he didn’t hear with nothing more than a smirk, and Albedo either actually didn’t hear over his wonderment or just doesn’t care.

  “And your arm?” the alchemist presses, ignoring Venti as he dramatically slaps a hand over his mouth.

  “It’s a reflection of my truest form.”

  “Which I’ve never seen, by the way!” Venti recovers quickly to butt in. “I’m not sure even Morax has seen Xiao’s adeptus form.”

  “You take the form of a bird, is that right?” asks Albedo. “What forms do the other adepti take?”

  Jean cuts in before Xiao can regale them with the mightiness of Jueyun Karst’s residents. “As interesting as this conversation is, we should focus on the matter at hand before delving into deep Liyuean mythology. Respectfully,” she adds to Xiao.

  He waves a hand in dismissal. “Of course. I’m here for a reason, no?” Their heads all turn to regard the reason where he lays prone on his bed. Xiao’s quite surprised Aether let them talk between themselves for so long without doing something disruptive or downright violent. “What is it that you need of me? I’ve already told Barbara all I know about his ailment.”

  Venti grins. It’s not one of his usual pleased looks, no – it’s predatory. Malicious, even. Like the cat that got the cream if the cat came from the ninth circle of hell. “Well, my old friend,” he drawls, “we have a very special favour to ask of you.”

  Xiao doesn’t respond, just waits for Venti to spit it out and make his day – or possibly his entire week – magnitudes worse. But before the god can bestow his soul-shattering ‘favour’ upon the adeptus, the infirmary door creaks open and in slip Lisa and Barbara, the former carrying an unopened box full of equipment. Kaeya and Diluc take their entrance as a cue to slide off Aether, slowly and warily inching away from the cot to avoid alerting the traveller. Lisa passes the box to Albedo, who abandons his notepad to rifle through it, then scrutinises Xiao with an expression he can’t read.

  She smiles, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hello, darling. You must be Venti’s friend. You seem quite…”

  “Valiant?” guesses Venti, grasping Xiao’s shoulders with pride. “Intrepid? Maybe bellicose? Or even belligerent? Doused in the blood and gore of Morax’s enemies?”

  “I was going to say ‘young’,” Lisa finishes, “but I suppose some of those must hold truth, as well. In any case, I’m sure you’ve already noticed our problem, Xiao.”

  “Yes; how can I help?”

  Lisa hums, appraising. “When the Traveller was first admitted, I took the liberty of contacting someone who I think might be able to help us on the medicinal front. We studied together at the Akademiya – he graduated from the Amurta darshan. He’s well-versed in botany and medicine and knows how to take care of a patient, so while the rest of us return to our duties he’ll be able to take up the mantle. Until he gets here, though…” She gives Xiao a pointed look.

  Xiao should never have been curious about Barbara’s call. Curiosity kills cats, and apparently turns battle-bloodied warriors into caretakers. “I… am a glorified babysitter?”

  “How long did you say it would take your peer to get to Mondstadt?” asks Barbara, looking entirely ruffled by the situation. She fiddles with her hands, keeping a close eye on the traveller where he teeters dangerously close to the edge of his cot.

  “He’s based in Sumeru and unfortunately isn’t an adeptus who can teleport across nations, so it’ll take him much longer to get here than it took Xiao. At least three days, and that's if he moves quickly.”

  Barbara is devastated, her earlier reluctance to involve Xiao coming to a crescendo. “But—! Xiao is a combatant, we can’t ask him to stay here for three days – or more – to look after one of our patients, not when we already have the manpower!”

  “What have I become?” Xiao mutters.

  “Until Lisa’s friend gets here, we don’t have many other options,” Jean assuages, softening her sister’s distress. “We all have more pressing things to be doing right now– well…” She glances at Venti. “... Most of us have other commitments. As long as the Traveller isn’t actively deteriorating, Mondstadt is our top priority.”

  “But what about Liyue?” sputters Barbara.

  “Liyue has other warriors,” Jean says, but she doesn’t sound as sure about the fact as she’s pretending to be. Her eyes flit over to Xiao, regarding him like she’s searching for his confirmation. “Their city is larger and home to more fighters than ours is. They’ll be okay, Barbara.”

  And Jean’s right; Liyue has countless other protectors. Perhaps none quite as involved as Xiao has been, what with his contract and disillusionment subsequent to its voiding, but fierce ones nonetheless. Mondstadt has no such guardians – the small group congregated in the infirmary seems to contain the strongest members of the city’s defensive force. So, Xiao agrees, as breathless and downright anxious it makes him to say: “I’m sure Liyue will be fine without me.”

  The mortals have proven to him time and time again that he can leave the nation in their hands. He knows that Liyue will be nothing less than safe in the time he’s gone, but it’s easier said than it is done to stop worrying about something he’s spent over two millennia worrying about. He’s doing his best.

  Barbara must be somewhat appeased by Xiao’s words; though reluctant to give up the fight, she deflates and makes her way over to Albedo to help him pack up – giving Aether a wide berth as she goes. The others follow the deaconess’ lead, preparing themselves to leave since Barbara has deemed Xiao a fitting replacement for them.

  Venti squeezes and pats Xiao’s shoulders in a way that makes him want to channel his inner sick-Aether and take a chunk out of the bard’s skin. But before he can discover what the skin of an Archon tastes like, something else occurs to him – something as relieving as it is disconcerting. “Where is Paimon?”

  Kaeya huffs out a laugh. “She’s probably hanging around Good Hunter, draining the Traveller’s wallet dry. Speaking of draining things dry…” He turns to Diluc with a mischievous demeanour, who scowls as he rolls his eyes.

  “Pay off your tab before you try to empty my cellar,” he snaps.

  As the Mondstadters file out, Xiao ponders how hard it could possibly be to make sure Aether doesn’t die before Lisa’s peer can take over. He doesn’t think he’s a carer at heart – truthfully, he doesn’t know what he is at heart now that he isn’t ‘just a weapon’ – but it couldn’t be more complicated than keeping the traveller hydrated and nourished. It’ll be a nice little learning experience that will in no way detrimentally alter the course of Xiao’s life, and that is all it will be. He’s got this.

  It has been many a year since Xiao has had to deal with an ill compatriot. The adepti hardly ever fell sick – they didn’t have time for it during the war – but when they did, they dealt with it quickly. And quietly.

  At first, Xiao made the mistake of being optimistic. Aether had become much more receptive and cognizant once he realised the yaksha had all but materialised at his bedside – he’d stopped trying to eat the air, stopped trying to suffocate himself with his sheets, and had even tried to greet Xiao over his misarticulation after the Mondstadters departed. Xiao had dared to think he’d have an easy time.

  He has never had to nurse a patient like Aether. Never.

  The rest of the first day was wrought with generally stupid behaviour that manifested itself in the form of saying stupid things.

  “Xiaoooo, I wan’ try sit up— uggggggghhhhh…”

  “Xiao, didju know that… that… oh, I forgot…”

  “Do… do we blink in our dreams? Wha’ if I subject m’self to dry eyes when I dream?”

  “Xiao, what you doin’ here? What ‘m I doing here? Wait. Where am I?”

  “D’you think fish… get asthma?”

  “Xiaooooo, ‘s too hooooot… kinda like you, hahaha…”

  (Yeah. The internal reaction elicited by that comment had been sent straight to The Box^TM.)

  The second day saw more general stupidity – but in a physical and much more dangerous manner.

  A dark day it had been. From the minute he awoke, Aether was revitalised with newfound energy. Xiao had figured that all he really needed was a good night’s rest and that his job was done, but no. Oh, no. His job was in no way done, as Aether would make clear exactly why he needed a caretaker through an abundance of ridiculous stunts.

  He had pulled harshly on Xiao’s vajra to inspect it, almost choking the adeptus out as he went. After the vajra, he had tugged Xiao’s sash hard enough to break his back should Xiao have been any lesser being. Then he had gotten out of his cot to run a lap around the infirmary before collapsing back onto the cot face-down, where he went on to use his pillow as a punching bag for about thirty seconds. And then he got up again to do a somersault in the centre of the room. The only reason Xiao had allowed him to keep getting up was that he was morbidly curious of what would happen next. If Aether was about to seriously endanger himself then Xiao would’ve stepped in, but as he was he was satiated with just being an idiot.

  As it always goes (Xiao is quickly discovering a pattern in his life), Aether eventually became dissatisfied with just being an idiot. At midday, Xiao had excused himself from the infirmary to fetch Aether something with more weight to eat since he was so vivacious and had come back to find Aether scaling one of the infirmary’s supportive stone-brick pillars; he was well over half-way to the ceiling, legs and arms wrapped around as much of the thick pillar he could reach, and he might as well have been foaming at the mouth with how he was growling at whatever in the rafters had caught his attention.

  It was in that moment Xiao was reminded with offending clarity that he used to be like that. He couldn’t even use illness to save face – he was well and truly just as animalistic in the earliest days of his contract with Morax. It should probably have been extremely disturbing to realise that Aether, two days into sickness, was in any way similar to Xiao, hundreds of years into torture, but all Xiao could think about was how the adepti had managed his self-sabotaging survival instincts.

  They had chained him to his cot. Xiao remembers it vividly; he had been kicking and screaming and scratching and crying – Lord Morax and Lady Guizhong had no other choice than to physically restrain him to keep him from hurting himself or the healing process. Lady Guizhong and Cloud Retainer designed a pair of wrist cuffs to keep his arms by his side on the bed and only removed them when they were sure Xiao wouldn’t fight them.

  Briefly, very briefly, in a second of degeneracy he’d rather not admit to having, Xiao had considered the possibilities of both Zhongli still possessing those cuffs and him willingly giving them away.

  Was it inhumane? Possibly. Did the cuffs do their job and stop Xiao from being harmed? Absolutely. Would the Mondstadters be horrified to find Aether chained to his cot? One hundred per cent, yes. Xiao had abandoned his idea as quickly as it had come to him and resorted to keeping an exceedingly close eye on the traveller for the remainder of the day. Luckily there had been no more shenanigans after the Lunchtime Pillar Incident.

  Xiao is actually fearful of what’ll happen today. Aether has said stupid things and done stupid things – what’s left? Will he hear stupid things? Will he eat stupid things? How will Xiao explain to Barbara that Aether died under his watch because he deliriously ate a stray scalpel?

  It’s noon and Aether is yet to embrace his bout of sickness-induced idiocy – the morning passed by terrifyingly uneventful. Xiao feels like he’s navigating a foggy no-man’s-land on a stalemated battlefield; one wrong move and the whole place will light up. He wasn’t even this tense when he found out Morax ‘died’.

  “‘m hungry,” Aether whines. “Xiaooooo, ‘m so hungry.”

  And the fear reaches a peak. Last time Xiao left the infirmary to find Aether something to eat, he had come back to the Lunchtime Pillar Incident in full swing. The traveller can no longer be trusted to sit by himself for too long, but Xiao can hardly deny him sustenance while he’s recovering. He doesn’t want to disturb the Mondstadters, busy as they are, nor does he want to make Aether wait until Lisa’s peer arrives tonight, but he can’t afford to be gone for the innumerable minutes he’ll have to wait at the establishment for his order. Even worse, he literally can’t afford to; what little amount of mora Xiao had on him has already gone down the drain and he doesn’t keep any at Wangshu Inn.

  He chews the inside of his cheek as he considers. Who will give him food without payment? Who wouldn’t he be bothering if he asked them to collect – or make – food for Aether?

  … Smiley Yanxiao.

  Why hadn’t Xiao been going to him in the first place? It’s Yanxiao’s job to cook, and his food is always free and cooked with priority for Xiao. He could have saved his mora by teleporting back to Yanxiao at meal times. He could have prevented the Lunchtime Pillar Incident by teleporting back to Yanxiao at meal times!

  It’s decided – Xiao’s going to Yanxiao. Possibly the greatest part of this idea is that Xiao knows exactly how long it’ll take the chef to put a plate together no matter what it is Aether asks for; residing a floor above Yanxiao’s workstation for years has subconsciously told him everything he needs to know about the preparation time of the Inn’s entire menu, so he won’t have to stick around after ordering.

  “What would you like to eat?” Xiao asks Aether, who’s been sporting an infuriating pout during Xiao’s contemplation.

  Aether smiles dopily. “You’re so considerate, askin’ me what I wanna eat. I wan’... I’m feelin’ an onion soup today. You’re a sweetheart, y’know.”

  The dreaded endearment has Xiao freezing; he thought he’d be safe with the traveller so out of it. He expects his heart to stutter, his ribcage to shatter, his lungs to give up, something – but nothing. He breathes out his relief; he’s becoming immune. Take that, The Box^TM!

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says as he stands from his seat at Aether’s bedside. “I will go to Wangshu Inn to have Yanxiao make an onion soup for you. I won’t be gone for more than five minutes. Until I’m back, do not move. If, when I return, I find that you have moved even a single inch, I will eat your onion soup in front of you and leave you the dregs at the bottom of the bowl.”

  Aether erupts into giggly laughter. It’s a startlingly demonic sound, different from his usual polite chuckle. Xiao watches in quiet disbelief.

  “You’re funny,” the traveller explains when he’s sufficiently giggled out.

  “I won’t be long,” Xiao reiterates in lieu of responding to that display, then dematerialises as rapidly as he can manage.

  When the darkness clears, he’s standing right behind Smiley Yanxiao in Wansghu Inn’s kitchen. The burly man bustles about the cluttered space, whispering orders to himself like a mantra. Xiao, as he always does, says absolutely nothing; he waits for Yanxiao to either see him in his peripheral vision or bump into him – whichever one happens first. The chef’s reaction will be amusing either way.

  It takes a minute more for Yanxiao to notice the adeptus practically pressed to his back. Xiao doesn’t know whether he was seen or felt first, because Yanxiao steps on his foot the same moment he turns around and, the next thing Xiao knows, he’s screaming like a melusine that’s had its ears pulled.

  “Yanxiao,” Xiao greets over the chef’s heart-attack, “are you well?”

  Yanxiao stabilises himself on the kitchen counter, taking multiple deep breaths and slapping a hand to his chest. “What the fuck?”

  “No need for vulgar language,” Xiao admonishes, biting back a smile. “I simply asked if you’re well.”

  “I was fine until you decided to jumpscare my soul into orbit.” The chef straightens, heaves another deep breath, then gets back to his work like nothing happened. He searches his workbench, hands coming back with an assortment of fruits. “What do you want?”

  Xiao blinks. “Why do you assume I want something?”

  “You’ve been gone for, what, three days?” Yanxiao wanders over to the sink with a punnet of grapes, washing them briskly. “The first thing you do when you come back is send me to an early grave and then ask if I’m well?”

  “Everyone deserves to be asked if they are well,” says Xiao, all genuinity and earnestness.

  Yanxiao looks at him weirdly on his way back from the sink. “Doesn’t change the fact that you want something, does it?”

  To the point, then. “I need an onion soup.”

  “Not for you, I take it?”

  “For the Traveller – he has been ill lately.”

  Yanxiao grins wolfishly. “So that’s where you’ve been. You could’ve told Boss you were gonna be away for a little while, ‘cause every minute you’re gone without a word is another minute she goes stir crazy about you finally meeting your match.”

  “And every minute I’m gone from the Favonius Cathedral is another minute the Traveller might find his match in a stone pillar,” Xiao rebukes. “Do not forget the soup.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” mumbles Yanxiao, shoving the grapes to the side to grab an onion. “I’m on it. You sticking around?”

  The image of Aether wrapped around a support column in a crude imitation of a hug haunts Xiao, floating around in the back of his mind. “No,” he says. “I’ll be back when the soup is finished.”

  Yanxiao frowns. “How will you know when—?”

  By the time Yanxiao finishes his question, Xiao is already back in Mondstadt. Aether, incredibly, hasn’t moved from his bed, looking as proud and smug as a sickly person can when Xiao returns to his seat.

  “I didn’t move an inch,” he boasts. “You can’t eat my soup.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Xiao gives him an acidic once-over. “You would have to take the soup from me first. With the state you’re in, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

  Aether scoffs theatrically. “Nah, I’d win.” And then, “How much did the soup cost?”

  Xiao raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “So I can… re’mburse you for it.”

  The eyebrow climbs higher. “You do not have to reimburse me for anything; Yanxiao cooked the soup without payment.”

  “He cooked for free?” Aether blanches, expressive face lighting up. “I love the Teyvat economy.”

  Before long – twenty minutes later, to be exact – Xiao is returning to the Cathedral once again with a steaming bowl of onion soup. Glad that it survived the trip, he passes it to Aether on a wooden tray and sources a spoon for the traveller. Aether eyes the soup, then Xiao’s outstretched arm holding the spoon between them, then Xiao himself. He lifts a hand and for a second, for one precious second, Xiao thinks he’s going to take the spoon and eat his soup – but Aether shoves his palm in Xiao’s face as if to say halt.

  “Aether?” Xiao questions, confused. “Take the spoon.”

  “No.” The traveller wrinkles his nose.

  Xiao sighs; Aether always finds a way to make things harder than they need to be.

  “Aether, I beg of you,” Xiao pleads, clutching the spoon, “eat the soup.”

  It’s been like this for forty-five minutes. The soup in question, somehow, still retains some of its warmth. It sits untouched on the tray, resting precariously upon Aether’s thighs.

  “You’re not begging.” Aether sniffs, haughty, turning his nose up at the bowl. “If you were begging, you’d be on your knees.”

  Xiao’s eye twitches. “If I beg on my knees for you to eat the soup, will you eat the soup?” Aether nods in the affirmative, so Xiao reluctantly swallows his pride and drops to his knees next to the traveller’s bed. “Aether, please eat the soup.”

  Blessedly, it works. The traveller, pleased with Xiao’s performance, finally takes the spoon from the adeptus and places it on the tray next to the bowl, which he begins to eye with pointed suspicion. Xiao’s stomach drops. “What? What is it? Would you like me to heat it up again for you?”

  “Did you make this, Xiao?”

  Xiao frowns. “No? I cannot cook, you know—”

  Aether tips the bowl. Its contents spill onto the stone floor, marinating the crevices in Yanxiao’s lovely onion soup.

  Xiao is rendered entirely speechless, jaw dropped as he forlornly watches the soup drip-drip-drip from the rim of the bowl into a puddle before him. “Wh…” He can’t even bring himself to ask what happened. It’s quite obvious, anyway.

  He tears his eyes from the mess on the floor, staring instead at Aether’s flushed face in the hopes of gauging why in the Abyss the traveller would risk Yanxiao’s wrath in such a way. Aether glares at the soup with delirious disdain and a deep grimace.

  Xiao steels himself, taking a deep and calming breath even as he begins to feel warmth seep into his trousers. “Why did you do that, Aether?”

  “I’m only going to eat it if you cook it,” says Aether petulantly, and Xiao feels slightly less bad about speaking to him as though he were a child because he’s certainly acting like one.

  “Aether,” he breathes in exasperation, rising to his feet. “I cannot cook. You know I cannot cook. I cannot make the soup for you.”

  “Well, then,” the traveller huffs, “I guess I just won’t eat.”

  So, the first day had affected his cognition. The second turned him suicidal. The third has given him attitude rehabilitation. He is sick, Xiao reminds himself desperately in order to overcome the pressing desire to grab Aether’s shoulders and violently jostle him. He is sick with an unnamed illness. He is sick. It is not his fault. He would be mortified if he had his wits about him. He is sick.

  Wordlessly, Xiao presses his lips together and nods before rising from the floor, emptied bowl in hand. He’s not excited to tell Yanxiao how Aether desecrated his soup and rejected his cooking, but he’s even less excited to ask the chef to teach him the recipe.

  He briefly pops his head out the infirmary door to let a sister know the infirmary is in need of a clean-up crew. That conversation goes as pleasantly as Xiao thinks it possibly could have (the nun, a macabre woman with skin so pale she might as well have been dead for ten days, swore viciously and headed off to hail a maid with balled fists), so, with nothing else to stall him, he braces himself and teleports to Wangshu Inn’s kitchen.

  “Yanxiao,” he says as soon as he’s manoeuvred around the middle island, “are you well?”

  The chef pauses his chopping to raise a dubious eyebrow at the adeptus. “Is this what deja vu feels like?” he responds. “You already asked me that question today.”

  “Much can change in... however much time has passed.”

  Yanxiao huffs. “Time is nothing for someone like you.”

  Xiao has no response to that, so he moves the conversation onwards in the hopes of getting it over and done with. “I have a hypothetical for you.”

  “You better not spout any philosophical religious shit at me,” gripes Yanxiao, waving his knife around. “I don’t have time for an existential crisis today. Actually, I don’t have time for an existential crisis ever.”

  “It is nothing mind-breaking,” Xiao assures, then hesitates. “If I were to tell you that the Traveller… spilt the soup you prepared for him earlier, what would your response be?”

  The chef visibly tenses, muscles bulging with what must be physical restraint. He turns, excruciatingly slow, to face the adeptus with his entire body, brandishing his large blade in a tight (and equally large) fist. Tomato juices drip down the steel and threaten to leak onto the wooden handle, the red trails going ignored. He makes for a very murderous sight, but Xiao refuses to be disquieted even when Yanxiao tilts his head downwards to meet the yaksha’s eyes with his own unblinking ones.

  “You’re joking,” states the chef, probably intending to leave no room for an argument.

  Xiao, unfortunately, has to argue. “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “Yes, you are. That’s not a funny joke, Xiao. Don’t ever joke about my food again.”

  “I… it is not a joke. Shall I take you to the Favonius Cathedral? I’m sure the stones that drank your soup will be wanting to give the chef their compliments—”

  The knife stabs into the chopping board with a bang! so loud Xiao has to hold back a flinch. Yanxiao lets go of the handle to cross his arms over his chest, and the knife remains unnervingly upright. The chef’s face is carefully blank as he stares down his nose to inspect Xiao. “Listen here,” he grouses, “if the Traveller spilled my soup, I’ll make him a new one. No problem. None at all. But if you let him spill that shit again, I’ll be spilling blood, you hear me? Blood. I don’t care about your being an adeptus.”

  Xiao coughs. “He said he would only eat it if… if I were to cook it.”

  “You’ve never cooked in your life, so—”

  “Teach me how to make an onion soup.”

  Yanxiao gapes.

  “Please,” Xiao tacks on for good measure.

  No-one says anything or even moves for quite some time, as Yanxiao appears to be sizing Xiao up and the yaksha remains determinedly still with his arms crossed over his chest in feigned nonchalance.

  “You’re serious?” the chef finally asks, moving his uncomprehending stare to his workbench to likely make the most of its current appearance before Xiao no-doubt blows it up. “You want to learn to cook?”

  “I want to learn how to make an onion soup,” Xiao amends.

  “This is unbelievable,” mutters Yanxiao, shaking his head. “You’re gonna blow the damn Inn apart!”

  “That’s offensive. I used to cook plenty during the Archon War—”

  “Yeah, when you had shitty little stick-fires and leaves to burn,” Yanxiao spits with little heat, grouchy as ever at the prospect of an intruder in his domain. “Have you ever used a stove in your long-ass life? Didn’t fuckin’ think so.”

  And so, Xiao discovers the beauty of cooking over a stove. He doesn’t burn the Inn down, doesn’t even burn any of the ingredients, and comes out of his long and arduous journey with his very own bowl of onion soup. It might not be as good as Yanxiao’s, but when he feeds it to Aether the traveller drinks it without issue – he even goes as far as licking the bowl clean when he’s done. Xiao must have done a decent job to have pleased even Aether’s temporarily-delicate palate.

  The rest of the day passes peacefully. Perhaps Aether has been fuelled by an insubstantial amount of nutrition this entire time – he’s been made stupid by a lack of vitamin E, or something. He knocks out after his lunch, which leaves Xiao with not a lot to do other than to sit patiently. With nothing to keep him on his toes, the sky darkens quickly through the infirmary windows – nighttime is well on its way by the time someone breaches the tranquillity.

  Someone knocks lightly on the door, and shortly after Barbara peeks inside. “Hey,” she greets quietly, “I wanted to let you know that Lisa’s friend just arrived. We told him to come up tomorrow morning since it’s pretty late already, but you can head back to Liyue if you need to. Thank you so much for looking after him for us – we’re in your debt.”

  “It’s not a problem,” Xiao tells her, sincere. “It’s been a long time since I last visited Mondstadt. Coming here was a nice change of pace, so I’m rather grateful for your call.”

  “That might be the first time someone external has thanked us for bringing them over,” Barbara muses in a light giggle. “I’m glad this experience wasn’t wasted on you. Thank you again, Xiao.”

  She mispronounces his name again, but Xiao appreciates the attempt anyway. He nods politely and Barbara leaves the infirmary with a courteous smile in response, shutting the door behind her with a gentle click.

  The city has become quiet, but, if he listens carefully, Xiao can still hear the people; the laughter of patrons overbrim from a tavern’s walls, the slam of a hammer melding hot metal, the clink of glass vials colliding, the soft rustling of a windmill’s sails, the clashing of weaponry – life is everywhere, ongoing even as the sun takes a break.

  As Xiao sits there, watchful over the traveller’s sleeping body, he can’t help but compare the two of them to his late Lady Guizhong and Lord Morax. Xiao remembers the two of them before the Archon War had really reached it’s crux – how they could stand in the middle of a ferocious battlefield and hold one another despite the savagery surrounding them, their constant doting over the other, the way they behaved as though they were the only people in existence even as the world continued around them and how in love with each other they were and—

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Xiao’s heart skips a beat. Or maybe forty.

  In love. Guizhong and Morax were in love.

  Xiao loves Aether.

  He leans back heavily in his chair, hands falling limply into his lap as he tips his head up to the ceiling; it’s time to open The Box^TM. Did Pandora feel this way when she opened Prometheus’ jar? No, she didn’t know what was waiting to be unleashed – Xiao does.

  For a long time, Xiao was convinced he could never truly know what eros meant. He grew to learn philia, storge, and agape, but eros was something he thought would forever be lost on him. Xiao could respect, revere, worship – but no-one could ask him to give them his eros, because he didn’t have any eros to give. He wasn’t capable of eros: it wasn’t part of his nature.

  Maybe it was, some thousand years ago, but it wasn’t anymore. He used to lay awake on the quiet nights, when there were no battles to entangle his mind with bloodshed, just wondering. What could he have been if his first Master had never gotten their hands on him? If he hadn’t been so naive as to blindly follow them to his own doom? If his first Master had been a different god? Or if he had been strong enough to resist them? No use dwelling on what-ifs and could-haves, he would tell himself. Eros escapes me. I should be grateful that my siblings know it in my stead.

  If eros was something Xiao once knew, it had been adequately beaten out of his system and he had no more of it. This was a fact, until it wasn’t. Because if Xiao isn’t able to give eros, to feel a warm and tender love he’s never felt before, why is he feeling it now? He might not have known eros inwardly, but he knows how to recognise it; he used to see it all over the place during the Archon War, saw both the good and bad it could make people do. All of those feelings he had lackadaisically rammed into The Box^TM – they were Xiao’s eros.

  On some deep, subconscious level of his being, he had to have known that. The Box^TM wouldn’t have needed to exist if he didn’t. He supposes it makes sense that he would’ve tried to hide from something he wasn’t supposed to have, to feel – hiding is often the key to surviving. It keeps us safe from the unfamiliar because the unfamiliar is scary. How does Xiao deal with this newfound emotion? He didn’t know when he first felt it and concealed it, and he still doesn’t know after unveiling it.

  What if Aether doesn’t share in Xiao’s love? What if Xiao allows his love to break his concentration and someone gets hurt? What if he hurts Aether because he forgets how to control himself? Fears he thought had been assuaged rise steadily to the surface, resurging, taking hold of him with a grip as tight as a vice.

  But, Xiao reminds himself, it was never love that killed my siblings. Love didn’t kill Lady Guizhong. Love didn’t hurt us; grief did. Hatred did. Power did.

  It is a notion much easier said than to believe: it’s okay to love. Xiao forgot how to do it, buried it out of fear even after he healed, but the world has changed and he needs to change with it. It’s been a long time coming.

  He lifts his head – when did he let it drop? – to check on the object of his maturation. He expects the traveller to be stuck in the throes of sleep, but is surprised to meet a pair of tired amber eyes already watching him.

  “I meant to say this earlier, but… f’rgot,” slurs Aether as he shuffles about under the covers. “I think you’re… r’lly kind. I think… I think you care a lot about people even if you don’t show it. Even if it wasn’t me who needed a b’bysitt’r, you would’ve stayed to help.”

  Xiao swallows. “I swore an oath to Morax many years ago; I would protect his people for as long as he protected me. It… it is my duty to care.”

  “‘s it your duty to care about some random outlander who accosts you with almond tofu every few days?” Aether snipes, sniffling pointedly at the end of his sentence.

  And Xiao has a lot of things he’d like to say to that. Aether isn’t just some ‘random outlander’ – he’s a warrior with unprecedented control over the elements; he’s the saviour of multiple nations; he’s the star that returned the light to Xiao’s life; he’s a caretaker of the people; and he’s a man who, deep down, just wants to find his sister and bring her home.

  But Xiao doesn’t say any of that – can’t say any of that, not yet. Instead, he says, “No. But I do it anyway.” He reaches out a hand to brush Aether’s sweaty hair out of his face and behind the ear the traveller hasn’t smushed into his pillow. Then, with a rush of courage, he lowers his hand to rest harmlessly against Aether’s cheek, his thumb caressing the tanned skin. Somehow, it’s a gesture far more intimate than when Xiao had braided Aether’s hair for him all those nights ago – it feels far more intimate than even sleeping in the same bed as they have been – for a reason the adeptus can’t quite grasp yet.

  “You do it anyway,” Aether repeats in a contented mumble, eyelids drooping. Xiao leans back, gently pats the traveller’s side in a silent command to sleep and a promise that he won’t leave, then goes back to sitting vigil. He settles in, much like he had when Aether spent the night in his room, but this time he doesn’t reach for his maintenance kit and nor does he summon his polearm. Xiao just sits.

  It’s quiet for a while. The air in the infirmary is still, disturbed only by Aether’s occasional snuffling as he slips into what will most likely be a fitful sleep, so it catches Xiao off-guard when a raw and congested voice speaks: “Thank you for caring about me when I’m like this.”

  It all clicks into place, then.

  Vulnerability is one of the most beautiful forms of intimacy.