Xiao rips another nightmare out from its roots. Clawed hands take great care not to graze the victim’s thoughts as he prepares to destroy it, but, his body locks up the moment he begins to bare his fangs. His subconscious bird brain rejects the action on his conscious behalf.

This again? Xiao scowls and lets out a low growl to clear the painful tightening in his throat. How stupid, he thinks, his limbs jerking as they obediently unfreeze all at once.

The dream does not die willingly, lashing harsh stings of rejection and weighty pangs of loneliness all down his throat, but Xiao still manages to force it. It’s dreadfully easy to overpower mortals anyway, especially mortal children like the one he just stole from.

He hacks like his lungs are about to collapse when the job is done, but the discomfort alone is not enough to stop him. Nothing has ever sat well in his stomach, even while awake, so he thinks nothing of the brief nausea that threatens to spill out his chest every time he eats. In fact, he tries not to think at all.

(Was it the nightmare? Or the act itself?)

((Xiao does not bother to decide.))

He loses his sense of time once more to an endless lull of mechanical motions: Prowl the empty space of endless sleep (ignore the bright sparks of pleasant dreams), taste the air for the desperation festering amidst the sweetness (rein in your drooling!), and teleport to the darkest places (there, no more temptation). He reaches out to touch a dream (feels the scraping cold worming its way underneath his nails and up his arm—), just to make sure it’s fear held inside (why are you trembling?).

There are times when he considers removing his mask to better see what he hunts (ripping it from his face as he drowns, trying to puke and swallow at the same time), but he falls short every time he brings his hand near his face. His fingers might graze over the edges of his mask (delicately, hesitantly), and his arm might want to seize at the touch (feeling far too much like violence), but he is very familiar with self-control.

Besides, he needs it. Perhaps not to hide his face from those who would curse it, but to remind him why he is here every time he thinks of dying.

Accept your fate. Finish what you started. Take what has been given to you as consequence to your actions.

You don’t deserve to simply die.

Something prickles darkly underneath Xiao’s skin, like pins and needles threading his limbs through with strings spun from nettles, waxing themselves in his own blood. He ignores the way it tugs the hairs on the back of his neck upright when he crouches down to feel for the root of the dream; the way his clothes seem to drag with the imaginary weight of blood when his eyes go blind to chase it down, a fleeting, fighting little thing that goes limp in his hands; and for a split second, it feels as if someone else is puppeteering his motions when he sinks his teeth into something soft and still-warm instead of something scrapingly sour and raggedy.

It’s sweet.

He drops the dream in less than a heartbeat. It sublimates into a puff of vile vapors the second it leaves his hands, and the taste inside his mouth fouls.

(The Land of Dreams has always been full of more than its fair share of tricks and illusions.)

His stomach curdles with guilt.

Memories of his life before Liyue are hazy at best on the rare occasions he tries to recall them, the details fuzzy, if there at all, in his mind’s eye. But they’re still there underneath that haze, are still a part of the bedrock of his self. His body remembers all too well the motions of his wretched childhood, the sickening obedience forced through his bones, and the countless lovely dreams he could have again if he simply gave in.

“Traitor,” Xiao quietly scoffs to himself, staring at his open palm. He curls his hand into a fist as he returns it to his side, as if that will help rein in his instincts. His jaw itches.

…Perhaps he should rest again?

The thought makes him hesitate. That Mondstadtian bard did say he was welcome back whenever he desired—

He shakes his head. Adepti have no desires. He will be fine.

Pushing the idea firmly out of mind, he starts hunting for the next nightmare. He closes his eyes, opens his mouth to taste—

Something is behind him.

Chills take root in his neck as it appears all at once, fear frosting down his spine as it spreads into the gaps in his vertebrae and sets ablaze every alarm bell that exists in his head, but when he spins around to confront it, all his senses plunge into darkness.

Time seems to stop.

Xiao doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe.

If he was a more diligent servant, he would have fought it. He would have been on his guard from the very start, would have put forth his strength now that it is needed. Maybe he would have even died to it, as he is duty bound to do.

He closes his eyes. Faint shivers creep up his sides through those ice-spun vines of fear, weaving through his puppet strings and curling sweetly around his neck. The melody played to him on the flute that night echoes quietly beneath his thoughts, whispering invitations of a return to that mundane life.

He must confess: it is a temptation he finds hard to resist, to visit that sweet dream once more. His very bones ache with the longing.

But to abandon his duty, even for a moment, even with the promise of a return— what a weak-willed thing to do. He has the self-control to keep pushing onward, and so he

He feels something forcing its way into his mouth and down his throat.

What follows seems to happen all at once. His heartbeat comes back to him in a full, panicked blast; his skull splits with a sharp, sudden headache. He gags reflexively at the writhing mass pushing against his windpipe, and his life flashes before his eyes while a whirlwind forms around him.

“…Whatever you desire, you’re always free to ask should you ever want it. Even if you never rest for long, you’re welcome to return to my dreams for as long as I’m asleep.”

Adepti have no desires. They are divine beings— how could they possibly want for anything? It makes a dirty beast of an immortal to ever believe they needed anything more than the simple prosperity of Liyue.

But, Xiao has, admittedly, never been the most self-disciplined of the adepti.

~***~

It is raining inside of Venti’s dream.

Despite coming on a split-second decision, Xiao isn’t sure if he would call it an impulsive one. After all, Venti’s words have lived buried in the back of his mind ever since he slipped away to fight again. He considered it consciously before being overwhelmed, even, and ultimately, the bard had a point. It is in his duty’s best interest for him to stay alive.

Still, now that he’s standing out on a stormy beach with fat, cold raindrops pelting his bare skin and drenching his clothes, he can’t help but to feel a bit like he’s placed himself in an awkward situation of his own making.

I should go, he thinks the moment his mind has cleared, and it is so easy to lift a hand to open himself a way back out.

But he hesitates, gloved fingertips pressed lightly into the fabric of the dream. They are claws no longer.

(His forehead, where the horns of his mask protrude, prickles.)

Rain runs down his true face, dripping intermittently like tears.

A stormy gale picks up. Xiao holds up an arm to protect his eyes and catches his breath to brace against it. It tugs at his hair and chills his open back, making him wish he could pull out a set of wings to shelter himself. But, when it’s over, he notices that the thistles which had earlier been choking out his lungs have vanished, and it is so much easier to simply breathe.

His hands fall back to his sides.

This is twice now that Venti’s dream has granted Xiao a respite: at the very least, he owes Venti something. The first time was incidental, the music a gift he hadn’t asked for but accepted all the same. Now, he’s here on purpose, because amidst those darkened fields of mortal nightmares, he held onto the stupid fantasy that Venti’s sweet dream would deliver on its promises to briefly end his pain.

And it worked.

A heavy weight forms inside his chest, as if his heart has been turned to brass and placed on a scale to measure what he owes this ever-dreaming bard. (His life twice over doesn’t seem like it should weigh this much.) None from Liyue can ever hope to ignore the obligation to balance and fair trade that is carved into their soul from birth, and Xiao knows his Lord, Rex Lapis, would expect his servants to pay their dues.

I should at least show my gratitude, Xiao thinks, staring at the castle nearby. Though it doesn’t feel like quite enough, it’s a start. He doesn’t know where to go after offering his thanks, but he assumes Venti will ask for something anyway. People want what is fair, and even if all he can offer are his hands in service, he will give all he can.

~***~

Though he has never understood (nor ever cared to understand) human emotion, Xiao cannot miss the way Venti’s face lights up at the sight of him.

“You came back!” Venti exclaims, smiling like an idiot as he scrambles to his feet.

Xiao merely grunts as he foists himself through the window Venti unlocks for him, but the reply is lost to the crashing of thunder nearby.

Venti startles at the sound. “Goodness, that scared me,” he huffs indignantly.

Xiao immediately tenses. “Forgive me, my presence must have turned your dream into a nightmare. I will clear it up immediately.”

“What?” Venti catches his eye with a baffled expression. “Don’t be silly— it was raining before you got here. Not every bad thing in a dream turns it into a nightmare. I’ll be fine. Besides, you came here for a reason, didn’t you?” He stretches his arms, then shuffles over to the window to close it again.

Uncertainty brews anxiety in the pit of Xiao’s stomach as he watches. “Yes,” he manages, then stops.

Venti has turned to meet his gaze, and Xiao, who has never been good at being earnest under eye contact, takes sudden interest in the little puddles he’s dripping onto the floor instead.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, the best he can muster.

“Hmm? Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Venti replies, and it sounds almost like teasing.

“I said thank you,” Xiao repeats, this time at a proper volume. (He takes a deep breath to pacify his all-too keenly beating heart.) “For letting me stay. And for the song last time. It was…”

He feels Venti’s expectant stare on him, and suddenly, Xiao can’t find the words to adequately express himself anymore. It’s as if they’ve simply flown away from him, leaving him struggling on the ground below.

“It helped,” he eventually manages, words clipped. “So thank you.”

The brass heart in his chest lightens, but it’s still not nearly enough to balance its weight. He peeks at Venti, just to gauge his reaction, and it’s—

It’s warm.

(And indecipherable.)

Thunder breaks the silence, and Venti’s expression breaks as he flinches.

It’s easier for Xiao to speak when it feels like Venti’s attention isn’t entirely on him, so he continues the moment Venti’s eyes flicker toward the window.

“I owe you a great deal,” he says. (“For my life,” he does not add.) “So if you ever need someone to dirty their hands for you, call my name. I will be there.”

Xiao doesn’t know what to do with himself next. Venti doesn’t seem to notice the sheer gravity of his intentions, leaving the yaksha feeling unexpectedly unmoored. He thinks of slinking off to hide away in some corner of the castle so as not to bother the poor man, or maybe even flat-out leaving altogether, when Venti calls out his name.

“Xiao.”

Xiao fixes his posture.

Venti lets out a quiet, breathy laugh. “You don’t owe me anything,” he says. “What I give you are gifts, not barters or trades or anything like that. They’re free! Yours to use or disregard as you please. Still, though I had no expectation you would return, your offer I shall not spurn.”

Xiao lets relief slant his shoulders while Venti hums in thought. For a moment there, it felt as if the bard had taken something away from the imaginary scale, and Xiao’s value in it suddenly began to plummet.

“The storm will pass in time, but I’m still not a fan of the way the thunder roars,” Venti says, drawing Xiao’s attention back to him. As if on cue, thunder rumbles low in the distance again, and Venti cringes once more, albeit more subtly than the times before. “I’d love if you could keep me company, at least until the evening. I know you have important duties to perform at night, and I wouldn’t dare keep one of Liyue’s protectors from them.”

Xiao folds his arms across his chest. Venti might not expect anything in return for his grace, but Xiao can only swallow what he thinks is deserved. He first received his duty in exchange for his entire life; it is only fair that he owes a small duty to one who gave him another chance to live. “Is that all?” he asks.

“Well, it’s no small task, keeping someone company, you know,” Venti retorts, putting his hands on his hips as if to sass Xiao. “There are all sorts of things that could happen! And you have to be prepared for each one, or else a lull in activity might lead your partner to the horrible depths of boredom.”

Xiao snorts. “You underestimate my ability to adapt to situations. I have fought countless unexpected foes and survived,” he says.

A mischievous gleam appears in Venti’s eyes, and he flippantly tosses his braids. “Ah! Now that is where you misunderstand, my good adeptus. A conversation is not a battle that must be won, but a duet in which the melody is shared between partners.” He puts a thoughtful finger to his chin, a smile playing at his lips. “You don’t really understand what it means to keep someone company, do you?”

Despite Venti’s humor, Xiao remains impassive. “My company has only ever brought people regret,” he answers evenly.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Venti says, seemingly unbothered by Xiao’s warning. “But do not fret, for I shall teach you yet! That is, if you agree to stay.” He finally lets his smile loose and offers it to Xiao. “What do you say?”

It’s an offer, not an order, Xiao can tell that much. He is free to refuse if he so chooses, and make no mistake, he seriously considers it— out of all the things Venti could have asked for, Xiao hadn’t expected the request to require such proximity. The idea of it repulses him in its simplicity and lack of greater meaning; yet the thought of being able to pay his savior back draws him in much more strongly.

He wants so badly to say yes, but…

But what?

Such a simple request doesn’t feel quite like enough on its own, but he has the time to give more. He hadn’t realized it before, when it only felt like his life was ending, but he can simply come back and return favors over and over again if that’s what is needed to pay his debts.

“I don’t really see the point in engaging in such trivial behavior,” Xiao finally admits, and he sees Venti wither a little. “But since you say your dream would be better for it… I will stay.”

Venti springs back to life. “Perfect!” he chirps. He starts heading for the door, beckoning Xiao to follow. “We can walk together, and talk together… The heart of keeping company is to get to know one another, you see.”

Despite this, Xiao hasn’t the slightest idea of what to talk about, so he follows Venti to the space outside, a second floor hallway that balconies the castle’s main hall, without a word.

Venti seems not to mind all that much, jumping to walk atop the balcony railing next to Xiao with dangerous frivolity. However, every time the bard threatens to slip, he simply whoops and catches himself on a wind, so Xiao decides not to waste his breath on any warnings.

Eventually, they reach a stairway, and with a sigh, Venti hops down from the railing to sit sidesaddle on the banister. He pokes his tongue out at Xiao, who proceeds to watch, baffled, as Venti slides down the railing and spins around when he reaches the ground floor, laughing.

He reaches out as Xiao runs down the stairs after him, only for his energy to suddenly vanish, his hand stopped just before Xiao.

(Only the heavy beating of rain against the windows keeps complete silence, like a stopped clock, from falling between them.)

“…May I?” Venti hesitantly asks, as if unsure of whether the beast before him is tame enough to touch. (As if remembering a time when he was bitten for such.)

Xiao puzzles over the question for a moment. What point is there in asking these things beforehand if it’s faster to find out directly? Cut to the chase, as they say.

Upon receiving no answer, Venti elaborates: “You didn’t respond too well last time.”

Oh.

That.

Xiao grunts his assent.

“Apologies. I acted on instinct last time,” he says, an unholy mix of awkwardness and embarrassment creeping its way into the base of his neck. (Thunder claps distantly outside.) “It won’t happen again, so you don’t need to ask.”

Venti’s mouth falls open, forming a little ‘o’. “Are you sure?” he asks. His touch is feather-light and hesitant on his arm; Xiao would have barely registered it at all had there been anything else more worth his attention at the moment.

But there isn’t.

“Yes.”

It’s not like Xiao actively hates being touched. Sure, he’s not entirely used to it (to having some part of him held), but he’s not actively opposed to the concept. He tolerates it when it can’t be helped, overlooks it when it’s brief and ultimately incidental. The warmth, faint as it is with how delicately Venti handles him, is kind of nice, actually.

(He doesn’t say it out loud, though.)

“I would simply move away if I didn’t want to be touched,” Xiao explains instead.

Because really, being asked is when it gets to be too much for him. It makes everything too deliberate, too intentional, too much about what he wants. There’s a freedom to chasing away unwanted advances that he prefers instead.

“Duly noted,” Venti says, his hand now trailing down Xiao’s arm. “Tell me if you ever change your mind.” And with a cheeky grin, he grabs Xiao by the wrist and motions with his head for Xiao to come along.

Xiao lets himself be tugged through the unfamiliar castle rooms, content to let Venti take the lead.

“Do you know how to dance?” Venti asks after a bit. His voice is airy in its curiosity. “That’s another thing we can try if conversation’s not your forte.”

“Nothing like what humans do with one another,” Xiao murmurs in answer.

Venti makes a sound of disappointment, and he turns around to walk backwards facing Xiao, seemingly just so that the latter can see his pouting face.

They stop in front of a door.

“But you do know how to dance,” Venti says, twisting around to get at the door handle. He shifts his grip from Xiao’s wrist to his hand, fingers curling into Xiao’s to better hold on while still reaching the door.

“Yes,” Xiao replies, like it's an admission of guilt. “But it’s too dangerous to perform around mortals. Anyone near me would most likely die.”

“Really now? Then I assume it’s not suited for partners on a ballroom floor.” Venti manages to get the door open and reaches over to grab Xiao’s other hand, unconcerned.

Xiao shakes his head but allows Venti to take his hand anyway— he wears gloves for a reason.

Venti, walking backwards, leads him into a spacious room filled with ornate trinkets. Tall, curtained windows shield them from the torrents outside; the sight of the sea and sky is blurred by the watery sheets of rain upon the panes. High above their heads, the painted ceiling pays memory to battles Xiao faintly remembers hearing about long ago, before the final establishment of the Seven.

Several instruments litter the room in various states of assembly, as if Venti had wandered off in the middle of putting them away, and give the place a pleasantly cozy, lived-in feel. Xiao finds himself staring at a flute sitting atop a display shelf, its polished silver surface glowing almost golden in the low light, as Venti guides him to the center of the room— some sort of ballroom or leisure hall, Xiao now realizes— and stops.

“Now, I’ve yet to notice any ill effects since meeting you,” Venti begins, drawing Xiao’s gaze back to his face. He wears an expression of pure curiosity, with eyes bright like those of a little bird. “But, I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the way you compared your company to a curse, does it?”

It’s a simple question, and an obvious one to ask at that, in Xiao’s eyes. Yet, when faced with it, the lighthearted illusion of this being a dream they share shatters.

(Xiao hadn’t even realized he’d allowed such a thing into his heart.)

((The world outside now bears down on him for forgetting his place.))

Something must show on his face for it, because Venti’s eyes soften into concern.

“Don’t answer if you don’t want to,” he says.

But Xiao does not need to be told these things. He hasn’t done anything unwillingly since before his contract with Rex Lapis.

Does this bard have a death wish? he wonders. And though he has mostly dried off by this point, Xiao is suddenly keenly aware of the remaining rainwater dripping coldly down his neck, of the dampness settling into his clothes with more weight than usual.

He searches Venti’s face for some sort of confirmation to his unspoken question, but it is too human for Xiao’s understanding. So Xiao takes his words as he would an order and willingly gives over the truth, as he thinks Venti deserves.

“For centuries… no, over a millennium now,” he begins in a murmur, shaking his head as he corrects himself. He shifts his gaze away from Venti’s to continue carefully gathering his words. “The other yaksha and I have served Rex Lapis by subduing the remnants of the gods he quashed during the Archon War through the Nuo Dance of Conquering Evil. My duty is to endlessly fracture their remains to prevent them from rising up and becoming a threat to Liyue once more, but in doing so, their mindless resentments attach themselves to me, adding their sins to my own.”

He allows the old gods a voice in his head as he pulls a hand out of Venti’s loose grip, debts prickling up his arm like a dark flame to demonstrate, until he expels all emotion from himself a few seconds later.

“Though small, there is a chance this karmic debt might attach itself to the people or places where I often linger, building up like taint in groundwater until I have no choice but to destroy them for their own good.”

Xiao lowers his hand to signal that he’s finished explaining, but Venti makes no move to take it again.

“Oh,” he plainly says. Then, as his already loose hold on Xiao’s other hand weakens further, it becomes clear that Xiao has rained on his parade. He then repeats, subdued this time: “Oh.”

Xiao scowls as lightning flashes outside. “Don’t pity me,” he says sharply, thunder immediately following after. “I simply act in accordance with my duty to Liyue. There is nothing there worth pitying.”

Venti’s mouth opens, his brows furrowed as if about to protest, only to promptly shut it, becoming oddly demure.

Xiao watches silently as Venti fidgets in the silence that follows, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet as he picks one up, then sets it down in the same place several times, until finally, he breaks away with the suddenness of a broken door. He clasps his hands together behind his back and marches to a set of benches, one of many which line the edges of the room, and climbs atop it to better reach for the nearby drapes.

“So then why did you choose to come back?” Venti asks, his voice clear, though the lofty tone keeps his true emotions out of Xiao’s reach. A set of curtains draw shut, a set of candles comes to life on its own, and Venti skips atop the benches to the next window.

“I felt something coming to claim me as I was hunting nightmares last night,” Xiao replies, shivering lightly at the memory. Another set of curtains whoosh shut, another set of lights come on, and he starts trailing after Venti, now restless. “It would be shameful of me to let myself die when I have a duty I must continue to fulfill, so I came here.”

Venti pauses when Xiao arrives at his side, his sharp eyes studying the yaksha like a fiend to be carefully defeated.

“I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” he says. “If you believe you’re such a danger, then why seek out this near-stranger?”

“You eased my karmic burdens with your music,” Xiao answers, barely wincing at the admission. (It’s easier to say this time, now that he’s speaking about what Venti has done for his duty rather than Xiao himself.) “There are very few in Teyvat who are capable of doing that. When it comes down to this, it wasn’t much of a choice at all.”

Besides, Venti is clearly no mere mortal, having already proven himself capable of subduing the monster within Xiao with only his music. Xiao might not know exactly what power Venti is hiding, but he knows it is enough to handle his karmic debt. That’s all the reason he needs to return.

Venti’s mouth twitches, likely finding Xiao’s stare to be too severe to hold unflinchingly. He stiffly laughs. “Well, if that’s how you see it,” he wryly replies as he averts his gaze. He turns around and sweeps the nearby curtains shut all in one smooth motion.

Xiao follows as one by one, Venti shuts them off from the part of the dream that frightens him, and one by one, the candles burn away the tension Xiao had mounted between them.

“I don’t think there will be enough time to teach you any of Mondstadt’s dances today,” Venti sighs as they reach the room’s grand double doors. “Although, I could always teach you another day, if you were to return.”

“I will,” Xiao says, but not as a promise. It’s more a statement of acceptance than a promise. Xiao is a creature of habit; now that it’s happened twice, it is inevitable that he will slip back into Venti’s dream again and again until it becomes routine.

“Oh?” Venti pays him a glance, and the way his eyes glitter makes Xiao wonder if he should have kept that admission to himself. “You sound quite sure of your return.”

Xiao tenses. “You were right when you told me I serve my duty better alive than dead,” he says defensively.

“You love your people that much?”

(Xiao finds himself too flustered to notice the faint dismay beneath Venti’s words.)

“They’re not my people,” he vehemently denies. “I am not their god; they do not belong to me. I am merely their guardian, a protector bound to them by duty.”

Notes of teasing come through in the way Venti hums. “But you love them all the same, don’t you? Beyond the lines and bounds drawn by your contract, you still love them.”

Staring up at Venti’s obvious amusement, Xiao feels too much like a small animal caught in plain sight to answer. He wishes he had a second mask he could put on right now, to signify some other, higher duty he must now attend to, effective immediately without a moment to spare for such pointlessly trivial questions.

Because it very much is a trivial question, and Venti is just so— so— presumptuous to suggest that he concerns himself with humans beyond what Rex Lapis had originally laid out for him! It makes Xiao wish that his Lord had authority within this domain so that he could pray for the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

Unfortunately, all he has is the playful wind running through his hair as he looks away.

“What does it matter?” he gruffly asks in place of thinking about it. “As long as it does not violate my contract, I am free to do as I please.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Venti agrees, to Xiao’s surprise. He stretches and yawns, then holds a hand out to Xiao. “Walk me around the room? If I’m to teach you to dance, I’d first like to learn what pace and tempo are naturally comfortable for you.”

Xiao blinks at Venti’s open palm, a lightness rising through his body at the offer. Hesitantly, he reaches out to take it, only for a clock to chime, announcing the evening time. The yaksha immediately stiffens and puts his guard back up, having hardly realized he dropped it in the last few hours.

“Sorry.” He shoots out the brusque apology and pushes down the inklings of guilt that try to dissolve into his gut. “I must attend to my duties.”

(Vaguely, he hears Venti heave a resigned sigh as he teleports away.)

But he will be back. He thinks about it as he executes the evils terrorizing people’s nights.

He will be back. The memory of Venti's face, so sweetly inviting, draws him onward.

I will be back. It sounds more like a promise the more he lets it echo in his head. To whom, he cannot say, but it strengthens his resolve regardless of that.

And a few nights later, he comes back.