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It was not the first time Wanderer had made his way back to Wangshu Inn despite not aiming for Liyue or wanting to end up somewhere so deep within its borders. An excuse, if anything. Or maybe a longing. He preferred not to analyze his own feelings like he did the world or people around him. It was a waste of effort and a waste of time to try and understand something so abstract and amorphous. The whole nation of Wisdom could not define it. And he, in all his knowledge, learned and retained from his past life, was still as clueless as ever about what compelled him to let this… Situation reach as far as it did.
He would be lying if he said he hated it, however. Hate was a strong word, reserved for things that truly ticked him off. Sometimes, he was annoyed, other times he’d find himself strangely comforted. Like now, when he, once again, stepped forth into a familiar courtyard and felt the eyes that were following him from the very moment he crossed onto the land of Geo disappear, as if no longer concerned. How amusing. Like he needs any protection.
Wanderer knew he was not perfect. Rather, he saw himself as imperfect from the day he was born, not because he hated himself, but because he hated the fate he was dealt. Was it not irony that one of the few people he deemed trustworthy now was a polar opposite of his in that regard? A hand dealt as cruel, but a mind that endured it. And yet, it was exactly that which brought them so close. Who knew that just a nation away there is someone who understands you so… Perhaps, it really is fate. As much as Wanderer hated the word, there was nothing else that could explain such a fortunate coincidence.
He takes a separate room. Not because he does not know where to go, but because they both understand the value of privacy. Wanderer settles with his few things of luggage. It’s barely evening, so he has time to spare. They don’t rush. Never do. He does not wait either, and goes to rest as soon as the sun hides under the horizon. The usual rhythm of their dance is not a desperate lunge, but a short side-step. It is constant circling, until someone puts their foot forward. He already did so by coming here.
It’s barely past midnight when he hears a faint sound of wind. Teal Anemo energy appears only for a short moment before a set of golden eyes stare him down. Wanderer smirks. “Tired of the cold?” he says. The eyes don’t answer at first. Not before the person behind the stare moves closer. Despite himself, Wanderer’s chest feels just a little tighter. Any time is like the first time. Like he can’t believe that this is still real.
“It’s me,” a voice, always slightly hoarse, but nevertheless so familiar now. “Do you mind?”
Wanderer groans, scooting over ever so slightly. He puts up an annoyed facade, even though on the inside, secretly, he is sort of relieved that Xiao came looking for him. The yaksha was warm. And he, Wanderer, a puppet, was always cold. Another contrast marked in his ever-growing catalogue of things he notices and stored regardless of significance, not knowing why.
“I'm not any better, for the record,” Wanderer huffs, yet still makes space for Xiao in his own bed. “I'm not human, you know that. I doubt I'm going to be warmer than the night outside.”
Xiao made a low, wordless sound in his throat – not quite a purr, but something close. He slid into the space Wanderer had made, his movements smooth and deliberate. The mattress dipped under his weight, and a cool draft followed him beneath the covers before his body heat began to seep into the sheets.
“You are warmer than an empty bed.”
His voice was a low murmur, factual, as if stating an obvious truth.
“And you are not as cold as you think.”
Wanderer had lost count of the times they had made this exact exchange. He never, for whatever reason, grew tired of it. Maybe that was just another sign that something was wrong with him. Or maybe, he had finally become human? After so many years, he could not tell. And after three years of those eyes watching him that way, Wanderer had stopped questioning entirely. It did not matter in the end.
“Perhaps,” he huffs. “Though, before I've arrived, you somehow managed without me, did you not?” he looks at Xiao's head from above, then moving his arm around and under the other man’s shoulders to embrace him.
Xiao’s pointy ears twitched faintly at the accusation. “I managed,” he conceded, his voice low. “Managing is not the same as preferring.”
His body relaxed incrementally as Wanderer’s arm settled around him, a subtle release of tension in his shoulders. He shifted, pressing the back of his head against Wanderer’s side, seeking the contact as much as denying he was seeking it. “You speak as if you hate it,” he murmured, the words barely audible. “And yet, you have not pushed me away. Not once.”
Wanderer tsks, rolling his eyes. "That's because I know it's useless. You're going to stand over me, looking at me with those… Eyes. Like I just denied you solace. And I'd rather you just get over with it than stand there and look like a kicked fungus.”
“Hn. A «kicked fungus»,” Xiao repeated, the words dry. “Your analogies are as colorful as ever.”
They fall into a short silence. It’s not unpleasant, and Wanderer’s thoughts begin to travel as he watched the top of Xiao’s head that rests on his shoulder, the hair permanently disheveled, dark, the ends glowing with teal energy. He’s clingy, sometimes too much for Wanderer’s liking, but he can’t really blame Xiao. Living on for so long with the thought that everyone you get close to will die soon because of you specifically… Wanderer does not have to imagine that. He thought the same just a few years ago. In fact, he wished himself death to try and repent for the lives he had directly and indirectly taken. Did Xiao, perhaps, also wish for it? He must have. He lived far longer than even Wanderer did. How neither of them had gone insane yet is a mystery none will solve. Not that it matters.
Xiao must have noticed how Wanderer’s brow twitched in slight annoyance. “And you,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur that was barely more than a breath of sound in the quiet room. “You are thinking of something else. Something that makes you… tense. Here,” his thumb pressed gently against the hinge of Wanderer’s jaw. His other hand found Wanderer’s, the one that was draped over him, and laced their fingers together slowly, his grip firm and warm. “The night is for rest. Not for restless thoughts.”
Wanderer quirks up an eyebrow, but seems to understand. His hand tightened around Xiao minutely, and he squeezed their fingers together. “I just remembered something that bothered me. Nothing interesting for you. You can sleep if you want. You know I do not need it. Restless is just how I am. My second nature.”
Xiao’s fingers stilled against Wanderer’s jaw. The faint, knowing glint in his golden eyes softened into something more contemplative. He didn’t press for details about the bothersome memory, he simply absorbed the confession, his thumb returning to trace a slow, absent circle on Wanderer’s skin. “Restless is a state of being,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration in the quiet dark. “It does not mean you cannot find stillness. Even for a moment.” He shifted closer, eliminating the last sliver of space between them. His forehead came to rest gently against Wanderer’s chest, a gesture of quiet intimacy that required no eye contact. “I do not need sleep as mortals do either,” he said, his breath a warm whisper against the fabric of Wanderer’s clothes. “But here, now… this is sufficient. Be still.” It was less a command and more a suggestion, an invitation to share the quietude of the night without the pressure of conversation or the churn of old thoughts.
Wanderer rolled his eyes, but did not move away. He embraced Xiao, turning to his side and wrapping his other arm around to hold him closer. "See, this is what I meant. Even if I told you no, you'd worm your way into here. Even now, you just moved closer, though before you said you're not seeking my warmth. How ridiculous." He then hummed, placing his head carefully on top of Xiao's. "Hm. Still as needy as ever. You're lucky you're probably the only person in this world other than the Traveler or Buer whom I consider to be worth tolerating."
“Tolerating is not the word I would use,” Xiao countered, his voice muffled slightly against Wanderer’s shoulder. There was no offense in his tone, only a quiet, factual correction. “You hold me. You allow this. That is more than tolerance.” He fell silent for a long moment, listening to the nonexistent rhythm of Wanderer’s breathing, feeling the cool, artificial steadiness of his form. His own breathing deepened, evening out into a slow, measured pattern that mimicked sleep, though the alert tension never fully left his limbs. “Your second nature is restlessness,” he whispered finally, the words so quiet they were almost lost in the folds of the blanket. “My nature is to watch over what is mine.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around Wanderer’s hand, a silent, possessive claim in the dark. The night stretched on, quiet and shared. Neither of them slept, for they do not need nor want to, especially since they have not seen each other for several months. Xiao, in his never-ending vigilance, listened to the sounds of the night.
Wanderer kept his eyes closed for some time, letting the silence stretch for who knows how long. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. Then, he chuckled. “So possessive over this puppet husk with no trace of a soul. I really wonder sometimes: what do you see in me that I do not? Your nature is to protect, but is there anything to protect? I understand where that passion is when it comes to humans: fragile as they are. But me? Hah. I do not need it. It feels like pity.”
He leans away just slightly, but does not push Xiao off. Just enough to look at his face. What will he say? What would a person like Xiao say? Why does Wanderer still try to push him away? After this much time of knowing each other, why hadn’t they fallen apart, like every other relationship Wanderer had tried to establish that wasn’t made on pure benefit? Why does Xiao wait for him for months and have yet to ask for anything in return? Have not even asked for Wanderer to visit more often?
Xiao’s golden eyes held Wanderer’s gaze in the dim light, unwavering. He didn’t pull away from the slight distance Wanderer had created, he simply studied his face, his expression unreadable but intense.
“You see a husk,” he said, his voice low and even. “I see the one who reminded me that I can still feel safe. The one who does not flinch at my karma. The one who stays.” His ear gave a single, firm flick. “Soul or not, heart or not, you are here. You have weight. You make choices. That is enough to protect.” He lifted a hand, his calloused fingers brushing a stray strand of dark hair from Wanderer’s forehead with a touch that was surprisingly gentle. “My passion is not reserved for the fragile. It is for what is mine. You have been mine for three years. Do not question it now, nor ever again.”
Wanderer lets out a laugh, but it's one of subtle relief, not of mockery. The line of his shoulders relaxes ever so slightly. He does not let the question down, however. Not until he is convinced by Xiao’s usual straightforwardness. "How can I not? People don't stay in my life for long. They leave, or they die. You didn't leave, but also you cannot die unless it is your karma that overtakes you. I ought to question if this is really true. Like a desert dweller that for the first time has seen the moon's reflection in the waters of an oasis. The first reaction is always to question, not to get excited to then be disappointed that it is just another mirage. And it goes both ways."
Wanderer moves his head slightly lower. "That's just how I am. Constantly thinking when will people leave me. What do they need from me now, so that then I can take something from them in return? It's a habit I've learned, not from a good place. I've been a child, then a fool, and now I am but a wanderer of the world. Things that hurt… require time to heal. I've never gave it that much thought before. Did you?"
Xiao's fingers stilled against Wanderer's cheek. The glowing amber of his eyes seemed to soften, not in brightness, but in intensity – a banked fire rather than a piercing beam. “I see the moon's reflection,” he said, his voice low and gravelly with a sincerity that cut through his usual curtness. “And I know it is real because I have watched it for three years. It does not fade when I approach.” His thumb traced the curve of Wanderer's cheekbone, a slow, grounding stroke. “People leave. I know this. I have watched them leave for more than two thousand years. It is the way of mortal things.” His gaze held Wanderer's, unwavering. “I am not a mortal thing. And you are not a mirage. You are a choice I make every day. To stay.”
He let the words hang in the quiet dark between them. “I ask not to, but question if you must. I will be here with the answer.”
Wanderer went still again, closing his eyes for a moment. "You have, haven't you?" he chuckles. He then puts a hand over his eyes, a smirk appearing on his face. "You also had people leave. Sometimes not by your own or even their choice. We're quite similar in that regard, aren't we? But I've lashed out at the world and promised to swallow the moon that blinded me, while you preferred to suffer quietly, until you go mad and turn into a monster. Yet, in the end, we somehow hold each other’s pain back with the mere presence of one another." Wanderer moves closer. His mouth grazes the corner of Xiao's mouth, an intimate touch between the prying of the questions. "Turns out, when we have nothing else and do not even feel complete ourselves… There's someone that might just be perfectly shaped to fill that void regardless."
Xiao went perfectly still at the grazing touch, his breath catching in a silent hitch. His eyes, wide and luminous in the dark, searched Wanderer’s face, tracing the lines of weary cynicism and guarded hope. “You lash out. I endure. Two sides of the same coin,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound. His hand rose to cradle the back of Wanderer’s neck, fingers sliding into the soft hair at his nape. “Both are ways of hurting. Both are ways of surviving. Depends on who you ask.” He leaned in, closing the minuscule distance, and let his lips meet Wanderer’s properly: not a desperate clash, but a slow, deliberate press, warm and surprisingly soft. It was a kiss of acknowledgment, of shared, weary history. When he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead rested against Wanderer’s for a second too long.
“Do not think of voids and filling them,” he whispered, the words vibrating between them. “Think of… alignment. Two broken edges that, by some strange design, no longer cut each other.” His hand on Wanderer’s nape gave a short, possessive squeeze. “That is what I see.”
Wanderer's eyes widen again. Slight confusion, then something akin to realization crosses his face. Three years, he reminds himself. A drop in his centuries of life. Nothing but a grain in Xiao’s vast lifespan. And yet, here he is, mending the parts of him that had been bleeding ever since he left Tatarasuna, and yet had no way or want to make them stop. Not on his own. "Huh. Never thought about it that way," he hums, then leaning in again, connecting their lips once more. Slow, deliberate, soft, yet firm and possessive. It’s still new, like the very first time. "I've only ever seen the void, because that is what I've always thought to be there instead of my heart. Yet, I feel. And I certainly feel for you. How odd. How odd, indeed." He smirks, that usual arrogant smirk of his, but his eyes stay softly locked onto Xiao's face. "I’ve asked Buer this one question some time ago. What's the difference between puppets and humans? She replied, in her infinite wisdom, that there is none. If we feel all the same? If we experience joy and sadness all the same? If we love, lose, cry with grief, howl with rage all the same? Whomever does so is human. My initial thought was to deny it. If that were true, wouldn't it just be another samsara? And yet, for the last three years, I've felt more human than I did in hundreds. What do you think? As someone who is neither a puppet, nor a human. What's you view?"
Xiao’s gaze remained fixed on Wanderer’s, the glow of his eyes a steady, low light in the dark. He didn’t answer immediately. His thumb resumed its slow stroke along Wanderer’s jawline, a thoughtful, repetitive motion. “A puppet feels. A human feels. An adeptus feels,” he said, his voice straight and confident. “The difference is not in the feeling. It is in what we do with the time we are given.” His ear twitched, as if listening to something far away, or perhaps to the echo of his own words. “Humans burn brightly and briefly. They build, they love, they fear death. It makes them… urgent. Beautiful in their fragility.” He leaned in, his nose brushing lightly against Wanderer’s. “You and I… we have too much time. It can make feelings stagnate. Turn them bitter. Or,” his hand tightened slightly at the nape of Wanderer’s neck once again, “it can let them deepen. Roots reaching down through centuries.” He pulled back just enough to look into Wanderer’s eyes. “You feel more «human» now not because you have changed, but because you have chosen to use your time differently. To stay. To care for something beyond your own void.”
His hand gave one last affirming squeeze. “That is my view. The shape of the vessel does not matter. Only the quality of what it holds, and the choice to pour it out. That’s how relationships work, do they not? We offer and let the other person decide if they agree to take.”
Wanderer finally closes his eyes and leans back onto the pillows. “Heh. Even relationships have unspoken rules. As is everything in Teyvat. Do not be greedy. No means no. You wait. You write. You stay. How simple it is, yet I feel like I’ve been discovering the Mare Jivari of my own consciousness. And even then, I am still unafraid. For the first time in a long time, I know where I’m wandering. Even if it is by accident, or by some pull of this so-called fate, I have not yet once regretted coming back here. Not once. You put up a record of not getting on my nerves, my dear Yaksha. Be proud.”
A small, almost invisible smile crosses Xiao’s usually serious face. “I am most proud. Of both of us.”
“Such a sap,” Wanderer huffs under his breath. “Since when are you so well-versed about love and such? Have you been secretly reading up light novels or something?”
Xiao’s eyes flicker towards him. “I have friends who know a thing or two and are very… Descriptive in what feelings mean what. They’ve dwelled among humans for longer than we have. They write songs and poems about this sort of thing, too. And I’m a diligent student, if it means I can understand you better. Or us, as a whole unit.”
Wanderer can’t help but smile. “All of that, for me alone.”
“Kounoshin.”
Wanderer’s body goes still once again. He turns his head and meets the golden eyes that stare at him with the longing of months of absence and distance. His arms suddenly tighten on the form of the adeptus in his embrace. This night promises to be long.
“Stay with me tonight.”
How can he refuse.