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In the early hours of a sunlit afternoon at the height of spring, a wandering yaksha sat beneath Mondstadt’s venerable tree of life, tipping his face up toward the soft beams shining through the canopy. The weather was perfect, wildflowers painting the streambanks in the floral magnificence he’d come to associate with the Anemo archon’s lands, the buzzing of honeybees about their work and distant birdsong carrying on a gentle breeze. Even for someone like himself who felt anxious indulging in indolence, it was a beautiful day to sit and watch the world hum with the natural flow of renewed life.
Although—he thought to himself as he idly watched a pink-dusted flower petal float on the breeze to land atop the burbling spring waters—he was getting pretty good at sitting around these days, at taking time to think, and to appreciate little facets of nature and life in general. A few moons ago Mondstadt was as a foreign land to him, and if things hadn’t changed he likely would have spent this day invisible as usual on the rooftop of the Wangshu, only distantly acknowledging the world’s beauty.
But then she’d wheedled her way into his life, and inexplicably brought the Anemo archon along with her, and the change was…
It was like something out of a child’s gilded storybook, fireworks and lanterns in his heart, an eagerness to greet the morning that he’d never held before, a constant effort to fight back wobbly smiles and embarrassing himself with how suddenly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously in love with them he was.
He hadn’t told them, he didn’t know how. How did one thank others for granting a new lease on life, for adding vivid hues to days long colorless and bland? The realization of his affection was so abrupt that he hardly knew what to do with himself. He’d been close to them before, gods, he woke up in her bed every morning, but now he knew , and the spring bursting within his soul was too profound to be held back by the susserating hisses of his wraiths. Admittedly his shadows were few in number at the moment, but even at full force he would never allow the darkness to smother the renewed light in his heart.
The ethereal glow of a crystalfly in the periphery of his vision caught his eye, and he watched it flit low over the stream, luminescence catching on the water’s surface. It reminded him of Venti, floating hither and yon on the breeze as caprice took him, of the warm, welcoming light in Lumine’s window that drew him like a moth to a flame.
He rose to his feet slowly, a half formed idea turning in his mind as he eyed the creature’s bright core. He wanted to do...something for them, something to show their care was appreciated and reciprocated, even if he didn’t have the eloquence to give voice to how he felt. Today of all days felt a fitting time to do so, to give an open acknowledgment to a new start, to allow his fragile, tentative hope to triumph over fear and anxiety.
It was a simple enough matter to catch a pair of the creatures, but as he stood examining the bright cores, water rushing about his feet, it occurred to him that perhaps he ought to catch a wider sample—perhaps others would be more beautiful, or upon closer examination bear qualities that better appealed to Lumine and Venti’s individual natures.
And so he set to nimbly leaping from rock to rock, almost making a game of swirling the butterfly-like creatures into his hands. While he was grateful that no one was about to bear witness to his foolishness, there was a certain liberation in indulging such simple frivolity. In the end he had to smile with bemusement at his own antics, his palms loaded with rather more cores than he’d initially intended to collect. He winced as he realized that there were no longer any crystalflies fluttering about the tree, but hopefully Venti wouldn’t mind.
With his prizes in hand he settled back down among the roots and began to diligently inspect the cores, turning them about in the dappled light to better appreciate their beauty. After much deliberation, he settled on a darker, jade-hued stone edged in crystalline hatching for Lumine—all the more to stand out in her golden hair. For the same reason he chose a lighter, mint-tinted offering for Venti, the darker emerald deposits deep in the interior sure to bring out the archon’s stunning eyes.
From there it was a trifling matter to reforge the Anemo energy at the back of the cores into a suitable catch for their hair, one advantage of his long years of solitude being that he’d gradually taught himself a rather lengthy selection of odds and ends to keep his hands busy, to prevent his mind wandering down darker paths.
For once, however, he was in no mood for brooding, and a smile of satisfaction curved his lips as he admired his own handiwork. If only he’d been able to concentrate like this back when Morax had first attempted to teach him the finer arts...but better late than never, after all.
“There you are!” a familiar voice called, startling him out of his reverie. Hastily he shoved the gifts into his pocket and attempted to appear nonchalant, heart racing as the two objects of his affection approached arm in arm, each of them laden with covered baskets.
“Here I am,” he replied as evenly as he could manage, the sunlight dappling her golden hair and dancing in his emerald eyes almost more than he could bear at once. Why were they so beautiful, their smiles so soft when they looked at him...what was it that they saw? It was hard enough to manage himself with one of them, much less both. “You could have called me if you were looking for me,” he said to her as she settled down to his right, attempting to distract her from the blush climbing his cheeks.
“We thought we’d find you ourselves! Have to say though, I didn’t expect to find you here,” Venti murmured, a grateful, touched element to his tone and the softening of his eyes that the yaksha couldn’t quite place.
“You said I could visit,” Xiao muttered, turning his face away from the tenderness in the bard’s eyes, his cheeks aflame.
“I certainly did,” the archon acknowledged quietly, moving to sit at his left. He gave a puff of breath at being so caught between them, and when he looked up Lumine was smiling at him fondly. So much for holding on to his dignity. “Wow, so many crystalfly cores,” Venti said, and he winced—he’d forgotten to put the extras away in his haste.
“Oh, er, yes...here,” he said awkwardly, scooping them up and depositing them in Lumine’s lap. “I know you like to catch these, for whatever reason, so I saw them and I thought...anyway. Have them, if you like.”
“Thank you,” she said with a laugh, and he puffed another sigh, tried to look away, only to be met with the same amusement dancing in Venti’s bright eyes.
“So,” he said, looking to the canopy with a calming breath, “you two were, uh, looking for me?”
“Mm,” they said in unison.
“I heard from a certain sentient rock that it’s someone’s birthday today,” she said, and his eyes widened with surprise.
Morax had told them. The dragon knew he didn’t care for celebrations, didn’t like being the focal point of special events, and he’d still gone out of his way to let these two know.
For a moment his old anxiety seized him, but just as quickly the tension ebbed from his shoulders. This was a new life, and it was just the two of them...spirits who arguably knew him better than any other soul save the Geo lord himself. Granted, of late they had a way of rendering his sensibilities into melted honey, but they were heartrendingly sensitive to his emotions. They wouldn’t press overmuch, would never make him uncomfortable on purpose. Well, except when Venti was shoving him headfirst into new experiences, but that was another matter entirely.
“...It is,” he acknowledged belatedly, realizing that they were both studying him carefully. “I...sorry I didn’t say anything, it’s just, I usually…” Spend it alone , he finished in his head, shifting as he saw the recognition of what he’d been about to say dawn in their eyes.
“Do you mind having some company?” Venti asked gently, and he shook his head.
“Yes. I mean, no. I...I don’t like big events, but this is fine. With you two, I mean,” he fumbled, resisting the urge to cover his face as they both smiled affectionately.
I love you, I love you both, never let me do this again without you, his heart sang, but he kept his words to himself.
“Good! We brought some things,” Lumine said, turning to the basket at her side. “Now I know you’re not a fan of food, but Morax sends these along and wishes you well,” she said, presenting him with a container of three elegantly wrapped sweet chestnuts. He blinked and sucked in a breath as she pressed them into his hands, the gift sending him wheeling back to an earlier time.
It was shortly after he’d made his contract with Morax...there’d been a hard battle that lasted through the night, and the yaksha was determined not to flag in his duties so early in his service. His soul had been ablaze with rage back then, and the terror that he would be found wanting in the eyes of his new, beloved master. He’d fought with tenacious ferocity, and when the sun rose on their victory he was told that it was his efforts that had turned the tide.
Later, when he was recovering in his makeshift quarters on the field, Morax himself had come to thank him, and he remembered how he’d been alight with anxiety, that he didn’t know how to face a superior who showed gratitude without underlying motives. When the parcel of chestnuts had been placed into his hands, he’d frozen in a sickening combination of horror and joy.
“Are chestnuts not to your liking?” Morax had asked, brow furrowed with concern.
He couldn’t say that his old master had done the same because she knew he loathed the ‘reward’, had plied him with veritable feasts after he’d ravaged some unfortunate township in her name. On the other hand, he had never received a gift in honest, kind intent, and he’d nearly been moved to tears.
“No my lord, I like them, but I...I don’t deserve...there are many others who gave their best, who gave their lives, and I don’t like...I’m sorry. Thank you, my lord,” he’d faltered, stomach turning at his own presumption, at daring to state his opinion either way.
“My yaksha,” the Geo lord had said softly, “you are deserving...you just don’t realize it yet. Did you know that chestnuts are a symbol of a gentle soul beneath a sharp exterior, that they signify hard-won peace? One day, I’m going to give you another passel of chestnuts, and when that time comes, I hope you have at last found that peace.”
“I didn’t think three chestnuts were much, but he said it would have meaning for you,” she said quietly. He scrubbed at his eyes and nodded, then untied the deep green ribbon binding them together. He’d never eaten the previous gift, had let them sit on his shelf until they dried out, had kept them for longer than he cared to admit as a reminder of his master’s affection until he’d lost them during the completion of a cycle with the shadows.
Not this time.
“Here,” he said, offering one of the sticky confections to her, the other to Venti.
“Are you sure?” the bard asked. “You don’t have to give us your present.”
“Very,” he said firmly, and pressed his own sweet into his mouth. It was soft and decadent, bright and smooth, and the appreciation in their eyes as they tried their own made his heart ache with the beauty of this shared experience with those who had given him back his life.
I found it, Morax...and I’ll find you soon, as well.
He was going to buy so many chestnuts when autumn arrived. He was going to bury his dislike of cooking and learn how to make this, and he was going to present them with more candied chestnuts than they would know what to do with.
“He sends along this tea as well, made from hydrangeas,” she said, and he sighed as she produced a tea set he recognized as one of Morax’s favorites. So the dragon hadn’t forgotten his floral metaphors, nor the details of their final conversation, and was driving his point soundly home.
“He can’t help himself,” the yaksha murmured fondly as she poured, her form with the tea improved since the last time he’d observed.
“I don’t know what meaning this holds for you, but I can tell it’s important,” Venti said with a smile. “I’m glad to see that obtuse old mountain has developed a bit more skill at conveying his emotions over the years.”
“To be fair,” he replied ruefully, “I’ve also learned how to read his meandering intent more effectively of late.”
“I brought something as well, though this was more my own idea,” the bard announced, pulling a small, stout, pine-colored bottle from his own basket.
“Cider? I thought you were bringing food!” she exclaimed. The archon tutted as he produced a selection of miniscule glasses.
“This, my dear, is Liyue plum liquor. It’s a Qingce specialty. I know both of you don’t favor drinking, but this is meant to be sipped and savored...honestly, the flavor is stunning. If you don’t like this, I don’t know what to do with either one of you.”
“I like plum liquor,” the yaksha supplied, touched by Venti’s efforts to procure a staple of Liyue celebrations. It was off-season to be enjoying plums, but that hardly mattered.
Abruptly it came to him that he was being presented with more gifts in the space of a few moments than he’d ever received in his life. He stared from the liquor to the tea to the empty wrappers, one hand drifting to his pocket as he took in their content faces, the happiness in their eyes.
He’d never imagined that anyone would be so pleased and comfortable to sit next to him, much less two people he loved so dearly, much less bringing him presents on his name day.
“I, uh, actually, I made the two of you something,” he mumbled, shakily producing the hair clasps from his pocket. “I know it’s just crystalfly cores, but I thought...I thought they’d look nice. In your hair, I mean,” he faltered, flustered with their wide-eyed expressions, the reverent manner in which they reached out to take their gifts from his hands. The brush of their fingers against his palms was electrifying.
“Xiao, these are beautiful,” she breathed, turning her clasp about in the light much as he had done earlier.
“For...for me too?” Venti asked, voice cracking, and for a moment he feared the bard would weep. But when he nodded with self-conscious abashment, the archon swiped at his eyes and broke into what appeared a genuine, radiant smile. “Can I wear it?”
“That’s what it’s for,” he mumbled, blushing and pleased with their reception despite himself.
“Does it look good?” she asked, her smile trembling as she canted her head toward him for inspection. His mouth worked, and finding he had no words, he nodded once more. It suited her beautifully, just as he’d hoped it would, and it was something he’d made, and she liked it…Before he knew what he was doing he’d reached out to smooth a stray lock of hair into place, and the way she blushed, the unreadable quality in her eyes...Not knowing what to do with himself, he turned to regard the archon, who was watching their happiness with a tender smile, the clasp affixed fetchingly at the apex of one smooth braid. He reached out and adjusted it a bit to the side, because he could, because Venti’s feelings were not lost on him, allowed himself a gentle smile at the open, moved surprise in those veridian eyes.
He’d spent centuries holding himself to the side, watching others’ happiness with no hope of ever truly being able to join. He would not put the bard through the same pain, would strive in his own inelegant way to remind the archon that he cared, that he too wanted that shyly requested future.
“Thank you,” the archon murmured quietly as he pulled away, and there was an awkward quiet where they all fidgeted and didn’t quite meet one another’s eyes.
“Ahem,” Lumine finally coughed, clearly trying to regain some dignity, “we hardly expected to be given gifts on your birthday, but as it happens, great minds think alike.”
“Ah! That’s true, come to think,” Venti exclaimed, clapping his hands together as though remembering something.
He watched, clenching his fingers into the soft grass as they each reached into their baskets and then held their palms out to him, revealing a set of miniature hair clasps—hers carefully preserved cecilia, and his a similarly treated qingxin. Both were lacquered after the harbor fashion, and delicately limned in gold.
“I know you don’t really care much for material things, but we thought they would look nice on you.”
His mouth fell open, and for a moment all he could do was stare. He’d never been given such tokens by anyone, not even Morax, and to receive one from each of them...He thought of his bare room at the Wangshu, of how he’d lamented having no keepsakes to show for himself after all of his long years...but here they were. His first treasures, the first physical representations that he could run his fingers over and remind himself that he was loved, even when they were not present. He reached out to take them with a trembling hand, willed himself to inspect the intricate work, even though his heart was beating so hard he felt lightheaded. There was surely some significance in them giving him each other’s flowers that he was missing, but he would sort that out in time.
“Thank you,” he whispered, mouth dry, the words not even close to enough to express the emotion crowding his soul. With shaking fingers he reached up and affixed them side by side above his right ear. “Well…?” he asked breathlessly, unable to look at them.
And then two pairs of arms wrapped around him, hers firm at his waist and the archon’s comfortably around his shoulders.
“Love you,” she whispered, and it was different from the other times she’d said it, in a manner he couldn’t place.
“I’ve loved you for so long,” the bard murmured, and the yaksha blinked back hot tears, struggled with what to do with his hands, then sucked in a stabilizing breath and wrapped one arm around each of their waists, let his head fall on the archon’s shoulder. Seven save him, he couldn’t say it yet, but he hoped they knew, hoped they understood that one day he would heal enough to give voice to what they meant to him.
For now, he impressed this memory firmly into his soul, their hearts rabbiting against his, the mingled scents of qingxin and cecilia, of jade dew and spring rains, the ambient sounds of flowing water, quiet breathing, and a world come to life around them.
When at last they pulled apart they were all fighting wobbly smiles.
“Tea’s gone cold,” the archon ventured.
“We can heat it again,” she replied, and they all eyed the drinks, well aware that none of them were prepared for idle conversation yet, that a little time was needed to sort their hearts before they spoke. “Oh! I...I don’t know if you’re interested, but I brought this,” she mumbled, awkwardly producing a crystalline bottle of clear liquid. His eyes widened with instant recognition, and
“Yes,” escaped his lips before he could think properly. He cast a furtive glance in Venti’s direction and found the archon wearing a similarly wide-eyed expression as he looked back and forth between them.
“Um...” the bard tried, for once at a loss for words. “Is that...er…”
“What?” she asked, then gasped. “What?! No, gods! It’s a massage tincture!”
“Massage tincture,” Venti grinned sweetly, signaling quotation marks.
“Stop that,” she scolded, cheeks pink and flustered.
“And here I was thinking to praise your adventurous spirit,” the bard sighed, shaking his head forlornly.
“Leave off, you fell little sprite,” she muttered, and Venti laughed, full and bright.
The yaksha could only watch their easy companionship, a smile curving his lips at their banter. As usual their mirth was beyond them, but they both seemed happy, and their joy warmed his heart. It was nice to be able to let go of his anxiety for once, to enjoy what they had without worrying about what he himself lacked.
It took a bit of doing to find a place where he could comfortably lay on his stomach amidst the tree’s gnarled roots, and he was a little nervous besides. She’d only done this for him once, and he’d enjoyed it so much it was embarrassing, and now the bard was going to see…
But so what? he thought to himself as he settled down carefully, the grass pleasantly cool against his skin as he cleared away his garment manifestations from the waist up and rested his head on his arms. He’d never enjoyed a single birthday in his life, and for all they’d given him, he could swallow his pride and show them both that he appreciated their considerate efforts, that he trusted them. He sighed as she straddled him and gently settled some of her weight against his backside. This might have terrified him even a half year ago, but now it felt like security, a welcome, warm yielding that appealed to his basic nature.
He gave a helpless hum as she pressed her cecilia-scented palms to his lower back, took a throttled breath as she firmly ran her hands up to his shoulders, then back down. When she did it again he arched slightly into her touch, unable to help himself, and she giggled but he didn’t care.
“Is this okay?” she asked, and he gave a huff of frustration--she very well knew it was.
“Yes, please,” he moaned anyway, and she gave another chuff of laughter, then blessedly continued.
Oh Sweet Seven, it was so good, just having her hands on his bare skin, to be thoroughly caressed by a trusted soul that loved him, a tender warmth that he thought he’d never experience, a profound closeness he’d believed he would succumb to the darkness without ever knowing. But no, here he was, loved and safe and whole in the company of two souls who wanted him near, the beginnings of a new life brought to fruition in the wonderful sweep of her hands over his back. With this, with her, with Venti, the three of them...he could do anything, he would weather anything, if only one day he could reach the point where he could touch them in kind, if he could heal enough to tell them that wherever they were was home.
“Oh, dear four corners of Mondstadt, I am being destroyed,” he heard sometime later, Venti’s whisper falling hazily upon his ears. He opened his eyes, groggily blinking against the sunlight as she paused in her motions. “You’re really enjoying that, aren’t you?” the bard asked, and as his vision cleared he saw that the archon looked as sleepy as the yaksha felt, a soft blush dusting his round cheeks as he sipped plum liquor.
“Mm,” he answered, not having the wherewithal for much else, closing his eyes once more.
“You want to do this for a while?” she offered the archon. “Would that be okay, Xiao?”
He nodded, heart lurching at the thought of both their hands on him. There was a very real possibility that bits of him would diffuse into the winds of Mondstadt, but he would try his best to hold himself together.
“Hmm, I…” he heard Venti begin dubiously, then bit his lip as the bard pressed his palm where her right hand had been.
When both their hands swept up his back and down again, he gave a helpless whine and arched into their touch like a cat, his chest bursting with fireworks. Maybe he looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care, couldn’t think beyond the awe of having both their hands on him.
And then the archon shakily pulled away.
“I...uh...I’d better not,” Venti murmured, a wispy quality to his voice that the yaksha couldn’t place.
“What’s wrong, can’t take it?” Lumine asked, and he could almost feel her teasing grin.
“No...no I can’t,” the bard acquiesced breathily. “I think I’ll just...sit over here and enjoy my drink, thanks.”
She giggled, and he sighed, sleep tugging at him as she continued her ministrations at a slower pace.
“Shall I see to you later, then? It’s not fair if you just watch, after all,” she answered, all warm confidence. There was a long beat of silence, during which he greatly appreciated her thumbs running up the center of his back, furtively pleased with another round of their teasing.
“Really?” the archon squeaked, and he felt the slight shift of her weight as she nodded. “Oh,” Venti breathed, in a tone the yaksha had never quite heard pass those soft lips. “I...you know what, I think I’m going to play my flute for a while. And that’s not a euphemism for anything, before you start,” he said with a feathery laugh. “I brought it to play for you, Xiao, unless you’d rather I didn’t?”
“I’ve always loved hearing you play,” he said easily, far too relaxed to fret over what to say, and moved besides that Venti had thought of him so. “I’ve always wanted to dance to that flute...perhaps one of these days, I will.”
Lumine’s hands on his back stilled.
“You can dance ?” she asked, and he cracked open an eye to squint at her incredulity.
“Of course I can dance, all yaksha could dance,” he scoffed. “Can you not?”
“Not...not especially,” she said faintly.
“It’s fine,” he muttered, closing his eyes again. “I’ll teach you.”
“Can I watch?” the bard asked, then laughed at the glare he must have surely received for such a question.
“You can join ,” he said pointedly, pleased to be able to have some banter of his own for once, but also half wishing everyone would finish talking so he could cherish her hands on his back again and perhaps enjoy his beloved Dihua flute.
“Oh,” the bard murmured, taken off guard as ever with the offer of inclusion--a sentiment that Xiao understood profoundly. “Well. I very much look forward to that, then,” he said quietly, and the yaksha gave a drowsy nod of acknowledgement.
Then her warm hands were sweeping up his back again, and the sweet opening notes of a tranquil melody lilted through the air; poignant, steadying, gently uplifting. There was a subtle change in the atmosphere, a soft breeze on his skin, and he realized with a sleepy smile that the Anemo archon was diffusing a bit of his nature to dance on the wind. He hummed as she followed suit, her aether flowing over him to mingle with the bard’s.
He’d never done this with another, but why not? If ever there was a time, it was now.
Carefully, he let loose the outer layer of his own aethereal trappings, tentatively set a few filaments of his consciousness to the wind--and was joyfully greeted by the gentle swirl of the archon’s essence amidst a flurry of high notes, and then by the patient, tender happiness of her autumn aspected breeze. Her hands on his skin grounded him, even as he allowed a part of himself to become entwined with their essences, to flit over dappled water, to dance between the branches of Mondstadt’s sacred sentinel to the melody of the Dihua flute, to whirl about empty chestnut wrappers and blossoms opening to face the nurturing sun.
Truly it was a day of birth, the first day of the rest of his life, and he meant to enjoy it to the fullest.