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Xiao lay in the hospital bed, pain lacing down his limbs like fire. It wasn’t as bad as it could be. The cocktail of drugs feeding through the central line just below his clavicle made it tolerable, as much as he hated the side effects.
It was daytime, the sun shining through the large windows of his room several floors above ground level. Outside, people crowded the sidewalks and streets like ants going about their morning commute. Xiao wished he was one of them. Instead, he was here, and he hated it.
Xiao hated that at fifteen; he knew all the pediatric nurses by name—knew which had kids and partners at home. He knew Carolynn was getting married in June after a three-year engagement, that Elise was going back to school, and Stephan’s wife was finally pregnant. Every inch of the cream-coloured walls, the floral murals, and the tiled floors was familiar—the feel of hospital sheets and the scent of their specific cleaning products. He saw parents with hollowed eyes, patients closer to corpses than children, and how the nurses cried in silence when another child died.
His family always tried to make his room feel like home during extended stays, but it never worked. Zhongli brought blankets and stuffed animals, decorations from their apartment. His laptop and phone, comfortable clothes—none of it mattered. It couldn't ease the discomfort of being in a space that wasn't his, that wasn’t crafted through years of pain and recovery, the first place he truly felt safe. It didn’t alleviate the guilt carving itself a home in his chest, nestled next to his heart.
Zhongli worried. The stress of Xiao's health weighed heavily on him. No matter how much Zhongli tried to hide it, Xiao could always tell; could see the lines of exhaustion on Zhongli’s features after a night spent in the emergency room and hear the whispered phone calls with Hu Tao because Xiao couldn’t be left alone. Venti’s weekly visits were the only socialization Zhongli got; he was too busy caring for his sick son.
The situation worsened whenever Xiao was admitted; they spent weeks in the hospital because he couldn’t keep down food or water. The pain so intense he stayed curled up in his bed, unable to move or breathe.
Today was the first day in a week Zhongli had gone to work, and that was only because he had a meeting with a client that he couldn’t reschedule. Otherwise, he spent all his time at Xiao’s side. He held Xiao’s hand as the doctor placed a feeding tube through his nose and positioned the end in his small intestine—a desperate measure when he couldn’t keep anything else down. Zhongli helped him get dressed, bathe, and brush his hair. His guardian did everything possible to ease the worst of Xiao’s suffering; Xiao just wished it mattered.
There was a knock at his door, and he looked up as a nurse entered, pulling a cart behind her. Barbara smiled, her curly blonde hair tied into pigtails. She wore scrubs in the usual colours and patterns of pediatric nurses. Today her pants were ocean blue and multi coloured music notes covered her white top.
“Good morning Xiao!” she said, her voice far too enthusiastic for any time before noon. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Xiao muttered, shifting a little. He winced as a nasty wave of pain crashed over him. Barbara frowned.
“I can see what we can do to help if you're in pain,” she told him, but Xiao shook his head.
“No, it’s- I don’t need anything else. This is normal,” he said.
It wasn’t worth fighting for more pain relief. He was already on stronger medications than most medical professionals felt comfortable with, and that was only because Zhongli fought for them
“If you’re sure,” Barbara acquiesced. “But let me know if anything changes, okay?”
He nodded, ignoring the way the feeding tube rubbed against the inside of his nose and throat. Xiao always hated having it, but as terrible as the experience was, it was better than throwing up everything he ate.
Barbara picked up the chart from the foot of the bed and read through the information there. She put it on the cart before sanitizing her hands.
“I know pain scales suck, but can you rate your pain for me?” she asked as she lifted his arm and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around it.
Xiao loathed that question. “Six?” he said, guessing. If ten was the worst pain he’d ever felt and eight was in urgent need of medical care, then he was probably around a six. Bad enough to impair his functioning, but not enough to need more medication.
He really hated pain scales.
Barbara nodded and ran a thermometer over his forehead and neck, taking the reading.
“You’re a little warm,” she said, copying the numbers onto his chart. “Are you feeling sick at all?”
Xiao shook his head. It was normal for him to run fevers during flares, as if his body forgot how to maintain his temperature. Zhongli said it had something to do with his body’s signals thinking pain meant danger. Xiao privately thought it was because his body was fucking stupid.
So basically, they agreed.
Barbara picked up his chart and scribbled down the rest of his vitals. Xiao already knew what the note would say without looking—low-grade fever, low blood pressure, normal oxygen saturation, elevated heart rate. All normal for a flare.
“Alright, I’m going to head out then,” she said. “I’ll be back with your breakfast once I finish my rounds.”
Xiao made a face and Barbara smiled softly.
“I know,” she told him, “it’s terrible, but it’s important. After that, why don’t you go sit out in the common room?”
The playroom, she meant. It was full of bright colours and sick kids playing with blocks or dolls. Parents hovered around the perimeter or played with their children as nurses kept an eye on them. Something about socialization being good.
He sighed as she left and stared up at the ceiling. On the side table, his phone vibrated, and Xiao checked it just to ensure it wasn’t Zhongli. His guardian would worry if Xiao didn’t respond.
It was just a message from Lumine complaining about how slow Aether was this morning. He left her on read.
Xiao walked into the playroom, Barbara keeping him steady on one side as he pulled his IV pole alongside him on the other. They’d done a lap around the ward, and Xiao was exhausted. He wanted to nap, but Barbara insisted he sit with the other patients for a little while.
A couch was unoccupied and Xiao went straight for it. A few children played quietly, different from the other times Xiao had been here (which was probably why Barbara suggested he come sit). One boy was building a castle out of Duplo blocks with who Xiao assumed was a family member; another played doctor with a plushie. Coping through play—Xiao understood that well.
Barbara helped Xiao sit, arranging his various tubes until he was comfortable. Then she handed him his book—the newest Zhongli brought from the library. Xiao sighed and opened it, removing his bookmark. It was interesting, but he struggled to focus through the pain and discomfort.
Time passed. Xiao read until a timid voice interrupted him.
“Um, excuse me?”
He looked up to find a girl around his age. It surprised him—Xiao was usually the only teenager in the ward.
The girl’s green hair was shoulder-length and messy, and her eyes were deep pink. She leaned her weight on a roller, the bars of which were a deep violet and covered in stickers of mushrooms and other plants. An orange knitted bag rested on the roller's black seat.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” she asked, glancing at the empty half of the couch.
“Uh. Yeah, sure,” Xiao said, surprised by this entire interaction. He hadn’t spoken to somebody around his age in weeks, discounting a few texts from Lumine and Aether.
“Thanks!” she said, smiling at him as she stepped up to the couch.
Xiao shrugged. He didn’t bother replying, instead turning his attention back to the book. It didn’t last long.
“My name’s Collei, by the way. What’s yours?”
He looked up again. Collei sat with her legs crisscrossed (a position Xiao also enjoyed), digging yarn and a crochet hook out of her bag. She glanced up at him occasionally.
Zhongli would be disappointed if he was rude to her, so- “Xiao,” he replied.
If it was possible, her smile brightened. “Nice to meet you, Xiao!”
Collei finally left him alone after that. She sat calmly, using the seat of her roller as a table for crocheting.
Whatever she was making was small and used several colours on different parts—it sort of looked like a doll. He couldn’t get a good enough look to be sure and Xiao didn’t care enough to ask about it.
Collei seemed relaxed, her hands working rhythmically as she watched the younger kids play.
The silence between them was comforting. It had been a long time since Xiao last experienced this quiet comradery--each person doing their own thing in the company of each other. Aether and Lumine used to do the same thing while studying with him, but he hadn’t seen them for a month. (He wondered if he would even finish the school year. Over the past six months, Xiao was hospitalized for three of them.)
At home, Xiao had been too sick, and Zhongli too stressed, to work side by side. Xiao's medication made him feel sleepy and lethargic, which didn't help matters.
By the time Zhongli put his foot down and brought Xiao to the hospital, they hadn't worked alonside each other in weeks. Xiao was dehydrated and half-starved by then. (Xiao hadn’t wanted to go. He’d begged Zhongli not to take him, to let him recover at home, but even Zhongli had his limits. He’d told Xiao as much as he carried him to the car, bundled in a blanket—he would not watch Xiao suffer.) He and Zhongli had long disagreed on what constituted an ‘emergency.’ The doctors did, too. (They’d taken him in immediately, skipping the hours-long wait in the ER. The decision to admit him was made quickly, and Xiao was too exhausted to even cry, despite how badly he wanted to go home.)
It was getting louder around them as time passed, and more children came with their parents to the playroom. Xiao cringed at the rising volume that reverberated painfully through his skull. Collei seemed to dislike it too. She shoved her crocheting back into the bag and pulled the walker closer.
Xiao watched her struggle to her feet from the corner of his eye.
“Thanks for letting me sit with you,” she said after replacing her bag in its spot on the seat.
He didn’t bother responding.
Zhongli sat on the edge of Xiao’s bed, rubbing his back as he clutched a bowl tightly to his chest. He heaved again, the muscles in his abdomen aching, but nothing came up. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up, and there hadn’t been for days. Any nutrition he got went through the feeding tube to his small intestine, skipping his stomach entirely.
They’d tried to give him water. If he held that down, they’d start weaning him onto food again and then maybe he could leave. No such luck; his body rejected even the quarter cup he’d managed.
Tears streamed down his face. Stomach acid burned his throat, and the feeding tube shifted uncomfortably. It was probably dislodged, meaning they would have to fix it-
A sob escaped him. He just wanted this to stop; he wanted everything to stop. Fuck, he would give anything to be normal, anything not to have his body fight against him.
“I know,” Zhongli said, pressing a kiss to the crown of Xiao’s head. “I know; I’m sorry. It’s okay; I have you.”
They would have to revisit the topic of surgery after this, Xiao knew. There was little else they could do for him but put in a permanent feeding tube. They only waited so long because his doctors hoped his condition could be treated with medication and diet.
Xiao hated the idea of surgery. He didn’t want to be careful about a tube in his abdomen, deal with the uncomfortable questions it would inevitably cause, or live off liquid food. At least it would cut down on hospital admissions. No risk of dehydration when they could skip his stomach entirely.
Xiao gagged and coughed. He felt his feeding tube shift and groaned—it was definitely dislodged now.
The vomiting stopped eventually, and Xiao slumped into Zhongli’s side. He was drained, both physically and emotionally.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered and felt more than heard Zhongli sigh as his guardian’s fingers threaded through his hair.
“You have nothing to be sorry about, Butterfly. None of this is your fault.”
Xiao bit his tongue to keep from arguing. It only made Zhongli worry more when he did. Instead, he hid his face in his guardian’s clothes and nodded.
“Xiao, right?”
Xiao looked up from the puzzle he was listlessly doing to find the same girl as before—Collei? That sounded right.
He nodded.
“Oh, good!” she said, beaming. “I’m horrible with names, so I’m glad I remembered.”
Xiao hummed, turning back to the puzzle.
“Would you like some help?” Collei asked.
He shrugged, not feeling much like talking. Collei didn’t seem to take offense.
She sat across from him at the low table, using her walker to steady herself. Distantly, Xiao wondered what was wrong with her, but he’d learned young not to ask. Kids didn’t get offended like adults, but sometimes overprotective parents made a big deal about it. Besides, he didn’t enjoy talking about it, so why would she?
Collei, as it turned out, was good at puzzles. She sorted through the colours quickly, passing him pieces that fit near where he was working and began to fit her own into one corner.
They worked quietly for a while before Collei broke the silence.
“How old are you, by the way?” she asked without looking up. “I just turned fourteen.”
“Fifteen,” he replied. His birthday was five weeks ago—he’d been too sick to have a party.
“Oh! You’re only a year older, then.”
“Yeah,” Xiao muttered, putting another piece into its place.
“I also really like your shirt,” Collei told him, finally looking up.
It took a moment to remember that he was wearing an oversized shirt covered in birds. The material was remarkably soft.
“Thanks,” he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “It was a gift from my cousin.”
Venti wasn’t technically a cousin—they weren’t related—but Venti had grown up alongside Zhongli despite being six years younger. It was easier to call him that than explain their connection. ‘My adopted father’s childhood friend’ was too much of a mouthful.
“Wow!” Collei replied. “My- uh, my dad got me these earrings,” she stumbled over her father’s title before showing Xiao the golden earrings she wore, decorated with pink gems. He didn’t ask about her father—it was still awkward to call Zhongli his dad despite being taken in by him almost a decade ago, so he had no room to judge. Collei twirled her hair around a finger as she continued. “I have to take them out whenever I need an MRI or CT, but I wear them anyway.”
“They’re... pretty,” Xiao said, searching for the word. Lumine, Aether, and Kaeya would all like their stuff to be called pretty, right?
“Thanks!” she said. “I was super happy when Tighnari gave them to me.”
‘Tighnari,’ not ‘ my dad.’
He wondered if they were a birthday gift, but didn’t ask. His friends had given him birthday gifts weeks ago, even if there hadn’t been a party, but Xiao had been too ill to open them. They were probably still piled in his bedroom, untouched even after five weeks. Maybe he should ask Zhongli to bring them. Sending pictures of him opening them to the group chat might make up for his extended silence.
Xiao sat curled in Zhongli’s lap. They were in the comfortable recliner in the corner of the room, a place for parents to sleep when staying overnight with their sick kids—Zhongli spent too many nights there.
He trembled, his tears dampening Zhongli’s shirt as he hid his face in his guardian’s shoulder. Xiao was too big for this, but he couldn’t deny the comfort of being swaddled in Zhongli’s arms.
When he was little, he spent many nights like this after waking up from nightmares. He would lean against Zhongli’s chest as his guardian carded softly through his hair, and they would fall asleep on the couch with cartoons playing on lowly in the background. In the morning, Zhongli would change his sweat-soaked sheets with the patience of somebody far beyond his twenty-three years.
Tonight, the hospital room was lit by a single nearby lamp, and Zhongli rocked Xiao back and forth slowly. The pain worsened his nightmares, which usually caused a flare of pain—it was a vicious cycle.
He whimpered as another wave of pain crested, intolerable agony coursing through his body. It was difficult to breathe, his lungs refusing to expand (it hurt it hurt it hurt).
A nurse had already been there. They’d given him something for anxiety and pain, but neither felt particularly effective. He wondered how Zhongli managed this back when the nightmares were a nightly occurrence, balancing Xiao newly in his care with his graduate studies and a full-time job. It seemed impossible.
(Zhongli had taken his courses online, doing classwork any free moment, but he still ended up dropping out. He’d worked fewer hours a day, six days a week instead of five, and let Venti and their neighbour Madame Ping take over midday childcare. (Xiao had been too ill and too traumatized for school. He couldn’t be around other kids or unfamiliar adults without sobbing, panic stabbing through his tiny chest with heaving gasps. For a long time, the eldest of Madame Ping’s granddaughters, Ganyu, was his only socialization.))
Zhongli was muttering something, but Xiao didn’t pay attention to the words. He only wanted the pain to stop—a desperate, primal need. He wanted to claw at his hair and arms, rip through skin until he could dig his fingers deep into his flesh and rip out the nerves. Maybe then the agony would finally end-
“Breathe, Xiao,” Zhongli said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. “I need you to breathe.”
He tried, gasping and quick. Zhongli hugged him closer.
“Steady,” Zhongli said, “breathe deeply. I know it’s hard, but it’s okay; just try. Keep going; just breathe.”
Xiao felt dizzy. He wasn’t sure if it was pain or the medicine—he wasn’t sure he cared. All that mattered was vertigo tilting the room around him. Only Zhongli remained sturdy as the world spun and danced, even with his eyes tightly shut.
“I’ve got you,” Zhongli said, muttering the words into Xiao’s hair. “You’re okay; this will pass. Just breathe.”
The words were steady and grounding, something else to focus on but the feeling that his bones were trying to tear free from his body. Sharp pain stabbed his lower back like a knife, twisting and spreading.
Xiao was going to be sick. He couldn’t be sick. If he started throwing up, he wouldn’t stop, and he would probably dislodge his feeding tube again-
“Keep breathing,” Zhongli told him as he rubbed a palm up and down Xiao’s spine. “The nurse will return with something else soon; just keep breathing.”
It felt like hours before the nurse arrived and injected something into his IV. Xiao welcomed the cold, floating feeling that followed as the medication slowly spread through his veins. It was an awful sensation, but still better than the soul-crushing agony.
His crying finally petered off, and Xiao slumped motionless and half-conscious against Zhongli’s chest. He listened to the beat of his guardian’s heart and relaxed into the feeling of Zhongli’s fingers combing through his disgustingly sweaty hair.
It was easier to drift that way, caught in a state of not quite awake. Xiao half-listened to Zhongli humming a melody, allowing himself to be soothed to sleep.
Whatever conversation Zhongli had with the nurse the next time she checked on him went over his head. Thinking was too difficult through the haze of exhaustion and drugs, but they didn’t make Zhongli let go of him, so Xiao didn’t care.
“Xiao?” Barbara asked from his doorway.
He turned to face her, blinking slowly.
His head ached, pulsing against the confines of his skull. They’d given him something for migraines, but it hadn’t helped, and it was still a couple hours before his next dose of painkillers. It was probably caused by exhaustion anyway, which meant there was little he could do about it outside of sleeping for twelve hours.
(He wished that was an option—or maybe that he’d never wake up—but Xiao’s body refused to allow more than a few hours of sleep without dreams so horrid he woke in a panic. So he accepted his fate and took weariness over nightmares, letting the fatigue turn his bones to lead and his thoughts to mush.)
Barbara’s scrubs were pink today. Xiao liked the images of flowers splashed across them.
“I’m taking Collei outside; she wanted to ask if you would like to come,” Barbara said, her voice quiet. “We’ll just be in the courtyard. It’s warm out today, and there are very few visitors.”
Collei wanted him to come? They’d only spoken twice. Xiao wasn’t sure why she would care.
He didn’t want to go anywhere (he didn’t want to be alive). It was hard to think past the fog in his head, like it was full of cotton or cobwebs.
“The fresh air might do you some good,” Barbara continued, and oh, she was still talking to him. He should probably listen; it was rude not to listen- “what do you think?”
Barbara looked so hopeful when she asked. He wondered if she was worried about him—he knew Zhongli was. Xiao overheard his conversation with the doctor when they thought he was asleep.
(Zhongli said that Xiao was lethargic and lacked interest in the world around him, that he was apathetic, and his friends were reaching out to him because Xiao wouldn’t respond to them anymore-) (His doctor had agreed. Xiao had always shown red flags for depression, but it had only gotten worse since his most recent admission. His childhood diagnosis of PTSD certainly didn’t help matters.)
Maybe Zhongli would worry less if he heard Xiao had been outside.
“Okay,” Xiao muttered, and slowly pushed himself up.
Barbara beamed. “Lovely! Do you need help getting dressed or anything?”
He shook his head. Xiao would accept help from Zhongli, but that was it; he didn’t want anybody else touching him.
It took almost half an hour to get ready. His hair was greasy, and none of his clothes were clean, but he didn’t care. Zhongli would probably take his stuff home to wash when he visited after work, anyway. Besides, the oversized hoodie he wore was one of the few articles of clothing that fought off the pervasive cold. Venti gave it to him years ago, and Xiao kept it ever since.
(He was always cold, even when a fever boiled beneath his skin. Xiao shivered beneath blankets at the height of summer and curled up with heating blankets and tea in winter, his hands and feet turning to ice.)
Collei sat on her walker next to the nurse’s station, smiling down at her phone. The case was covered in stickers, just like her walker, and a little aranara charm hung off it. She looked up, and her already happy expression brightened.
“Xiao!” she called in greeting, waving him over. “Barbara said you weren’t feeling well, so I’m really glad you agreed to come with us.”
He shrugged in lieu of a response and shoved one of his hands into his hoodie pocket. The other remained wrapped firmly around his IV pole. It was annoying to take it everywhere with him, but Xiao’s feeding tube required him to receive food slowly over 20 hours, and he was on a constant flow of IV fluid and medications through his central line.
Her words made his chest ache in a way that didn’t feel entirely physical. Or maybe he was just having a heart attack and was about to drop dead. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.
Zhongli would be heartbroken if he knew Xiao’s thoughts. He already worried so much, and Xiao couldn’t help the cloying guilt that leaked through his body like poison.
(But maybe if he was dead, Zhongli could move on-)
“Good to see you, Xiao!” Barbara said, coming to stand by them. She had a large bag hanging off her shoulder. “Are the two of you ready to go?”
“Yup!” Collei answered. She stood, using the handles of her walking to help.
“Do you want a wheelchair, Collei?” Barbara asked, but Collei shook her head.
“I should be okay! But thank you.”
Xiao also declined when she offered. He would be fine as long as they didn’t take the stairs.
Collei was obviously happy to be out of the ward. As they walked, she chatted endlessly with Barbara, seemingly unaware of how people’s gazes slid off them like rain off wax. Even at a hospital, people were still uncomfortable with their existence.
It was easier for people to ignore them, to treat people like Xiao as a ghost—transparent and spectral. Then they wouldn’t have to confront what made them so uncomfortable about seeing a disabled kid.
At least the people who stared recognized his presence.
Xiao hunched forward, trying to ignore everybody as much as they ignored him.
At least it didn’t take long to reach the courtyard. It was pretty this time of year, the cool spring quickly giving way to the hot summer sun. Flowers bloomed all around them and a small fountain bubbled in the centre. Birds perched in high trees, chirping and singing to one another.
Barbara led them to a bench and sat, pulling her lunch out of her bag.
Oh. Xiao hadn’t realized she was giving up her lunch break for this, but he supposed it made sense. The pediatric ward couldn’t spare their nurses just to take two kids to the courtyard.
Guilt made itself known again, despite knowing that Barbara would have come out here with Collei, anyway. Maybe they would have had a better time if he said no.
“Come sit, Xiao!” Collei called, taking a seat on her walker next to the bench. She left a space for him next to Barbara and enough room for his IV pole to fit between her walker and the bench.
He approached hesitantly and sat. It... was pleasant to be outside. The breeze ruffled his overgrown hair, making the strands dance. He needed to cut it. Maybe Venti could help the next time he visited.
“How’s your dad doing?” Barbara asked Collei. “I wasn’t on shift last time he visited! I was sad to miss him.”
“He’s great!” Collei said, kicking her feet against the smooth concrete walkway. “He was just offered another position at the university, but he turned it down. I think Cyno is a little disappointed, to be honest.”
They wore similar shoes—velcro instead of laces. It must have been difficult for her to tie them with her mobility issues. Xiao’s problem was less with putting them on and more with taking them off. Velcro was easier for Zhongli to help with.
Hers were custom painted with splashes of colours. Somebody must have spent hours carefully painting the tiny flowers across the cream-coloured canvas.
“I’m going to go fill my water bottle,” Barbara said as she stood. “Will the two of you be okay for a few minutes?”
They both nodded, and Xiao supposed Collei must not have any illness that would make her drop dead, or Barbara would never have left them alone.
He looked up, staring at the blue sky he’d only seen through his window in the last weeks. The sun shone down, hot on his pale skin, and Xiao knew he’d probably burn if he didn’t move to the shade soon. It would be worth it even if he did.
Collei pulled a plastic container out of her bag and opened the red lid. Inside were cookies stacked neatly on top of each other. The icing made them look like different plants.
Xiao sensed a pattern here. Collei must really like plants.
She saw him looking and smiled. “Do you want one?” she offered. “I’m not sure if you can, but they’re gluten and peanut free. They have dairy in them, though.”
His mouth pressed into a firm line, and Xiao shook his head.
“I can’t eat anything,” he said, turning away to glare at the ground.
The worst part was that there probably wasn’t anything in them he couldn’t eat normally. He didn’t have any allergies or specific dietary restrictions—his body simply refused to hold down food.
“That must be really hard,” she said, and he saw her lower the container from the corner of his eye.
“I throw up everything I eat,” he quietly admitted. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Even water makes me sick sometimes.”
He sounded about as miserable as he felt.
“Oh,” Collei replied, “I’m sorry.” She sounded sad, making the nerves on Xiao’s neck stand up.
He swallowed his immediate response—the instinctive desire to lash out, to make her hurt. Anger was such an easy emotion compared to anything else.
Instead, Xiao shook his head.
“It’s fine,” he lied and pulled his legs up onto the bench. It was easier to wrap his arms around them that way, and Xiao rested his chin on top of his knees. “It’s just one of a dozen things wrong with me.” Fevers, chronic pain, migraines, vertigo, the vomiting- “It’s all a mystery, so I’m sort of stuck in medical limbo.”
(Half the doctors he saw as a kid didn’t believe even there was a problem. They always said that he was making it up or Zhongli was overreacting. The other half had no idea what was wrong, but at least they didn’t send them away.)
It was more than he meant to admit, and Xiao sighed. Whatever minuscule drop of energy he’d received from the outdoors vanished.
“No, it was rude to assume,” Collei said. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry I upset you.”
“You didn’t-“ he started, but she cut him off.
“Yes, I did. Just accept my apology, okay? It takes less energy than deflecting.”
Xiao deflated, but she was right. It wasn’t worth the fight.
“Yeah, okay,” he muttered.
They sat silently, and Xiao closed his eyes, trying to rediscover his earlier peace.
Eventually, Collei spoke again.
“I have eleazar,” she said. The shock her words left shattered the glass-like silence.
“What?” Xiao replied dumbly. He snapped his head up to look at her, but Collei wasn’t watching him.
“They diagnosed me when I was a kid,” she said. “It was stable for a few years, but it’s gotten worse recently. Walking is getting more difficult, and my hands aren’t as good as they were.”
She kicked the ground again.
Right- velcro shoes.
“I’m on a drug trial right now, and it’s supposed to help, so we’ll see.” Collei shrugged.
“Shit,” Xiao said. From what he knew, eleazar was brutal. Slow paralysis leading to a young death—almost always before age 30.
Collei laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right, honestly.” She turned to him and smiled. “There, a secret for a secret. Now we’re even.”
“I’m not sure it works like that,” Xiao said, and Collei rolled her eyes.
“Just humour me!”
Xiao huffed, the sound almost a laugh. Unfortunately, it didn’t pass by Collei’s notice.
She gasped. “I made you laugh!” she shouted cheerfully, all at once her joy returning in full force.
He scowled. “You did not.”
“I absolutely did! I heard it!”
Barbara walked back to them, bickering like children. It was nice; refreshing.
“You can’t be serious,” Zhongli snapped, his voice a snarl even while his hands were soft.
Xiao let out a sob, curling closer to his guardian. It was hard to move; the pain numbing his thoughts until they dripped like water from a faucet.
“I’m sorry, but the doctor said no,” the nurse replied. Her voice was steady, with no hint of discomfort.
“He’s in pain!”
“I told you, he’s already had more than Dr. Eroch feels comfortable giving, which he’ll explain to you when he comes here on his rounds.”
Zhongli stood, pulling away from Xiao to fully face the nurse. “You can’t just let him suffer like this!”
“Both the medical board and governing bodies mandate physicians prescribe the lowest possible dose of opioids, especially in children. Research shows that higher doses have little effect on the long-term management of chronic pain, and that psychological coping strategies-”
Zhongli cut her off.
“Deep breathing isn’t going to change the fact he’s in agony,” he snapped. “And we aren’t talking about long-term management; we’re talking about right now. Xiao has never had a problem with opioids, something all his doctors know and agree on. He rarely uses them, even at home. If he’s asking for them, it’s because he truly needs them!”
The nurse shook her head, frowning deeply.
“I’m sorry, sir, but there really is nothing else we can do. I suggest you calm down before we’re forced to ask you to step out.”
Xiao cut off Zhongli’s subsequent response. He let out a keening sob, high-pitched and pained. His vision doubled, greying out at the edges.
Zhongli couldn’t leave; he couldn’t. Xiao wouldn’t be able to survive this without him. He needed Zhongli.
His guardian was at his side in a heartbeat, helping Xiao sit up as he choked on the stomach acid burning its way up his throat.
He couldn’t breathe. His lungs screamed every time he tried, as if his ribs were snapping with every inhalation. Even Zhongli’s careful coaching didn’t help ease his shallow, too quick breaths.
“I’ll ask Dr. Eroch to prescribe something for nausea,” the nurse said, checking Xiao’s chart.
Zhongli growled.
“It won’t work. The entire reason we’re here is because nothing fucking works. They’ve given him medicine for chemo patients, and it’s done nothing.”
Xiao curled to Zhongli’s side, reaching up to grip the fabric of his guardian’s shirt. Zhongli’s large hand covered his, keeping it close to his chest.
“Z-Zhongli,” he begged, forcing the word out in the brief moments between episodes of choking vomit. Tears streamed down his face, further obscuring his wavering vision.
“I’m here,” Zhongli said, still holding Xiao’s hand as his other arm stayed wrapped around Xiao’s back. “Shhh, I’m sorry; I know it hurts. Oh, Xiao, I know; I’m sorry. It’s okay; just breathe.”
I can’t, he wanted to say, but Xiao couldn’t formulate the words. He hunched forward again, coughing up bile.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, sobbing loudly as he clung to Zhongli. Time passed in a half-conscious haze, his awareness flickering in and out like a candle in the wind.
At some point, he thought the doctor came in because Zhongli was angry, but he didn’t let go of Xiao. Instead, he held him closer, as if Zhongli’s arms could protect him from the world.
Something similar to anxiety rose in his chest, his heart hammering against his ribs like bloodied fists pounding against cement. Everything was sort of hazy and distant, like looking through frosted glass. His mind felt filmy, stuffed with gossamer and silk.
He- he didn’t remember the doctor leaving, but Zhongli was rubbing his back, and the feeling still hadn’t gone away-
He should say something, but speaking felt like dragging his mind through sludge. His tongue felt swollen, or maybe like wasn’t his-
The static in his eyes got worse, the grey edges turning black. Pain blossomed in his skull, a flower uncurling its delicate petals and overpowering everything else.
Something shifted, but Xiao didn’t know what. Zhongli’s wavering form entered his field of vision, and a warm hand cupped his cheek. The contact made his skin buzz—or maybe it stopped his skin from buzzing. It was hard to tell the difference-
Zhongli called his name. It sounded wobbly, like Zhongli was underwater, or Xiao was. Maybe that was why he couldn’t breathe.
There was movement, more people appeared, and he heard something that may have been panic.
Xiao roused to pain, a piercing throb like an ice pick through his skull.
It took a long moment to force his eyes open, light pouring in through the tiny gaps between his lids. It was too much. Agony flared in his head, throwing the world out of focus, spinning like a child’s top.
Somebody was holding his hand. They squeezed it, the pressure just enough to be discernible without being painful.
“Xiao?” somebody—Zhongli—called softly, their other hand petting his frazzled hair. “Can you hear me?”
Xiao hummed quietly. Speaking was beyond him, and his muscles burned too much to move them. It reverberated oddly around him, and Xiao distantly realized something was on his face.
Zhongli’s hand pulled away from his hair for a moment before replacing it. The feeling was relaxing and comfortable, a steady repetitive motion that slowly eased the pulse in his head.
The door opened with a familiar click.
“Is everything okay?” a new voice asked just above a whisper.
“He’s waking up,” Zhongli replied. “Can we turn off the lights? Or at least dim them?”
“Of course.”
The light beyond his eyelids dimmed substantially, and Xiao released some tension he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“Thank you,” Zhongli said. Relief was clear in his voice, mingling with fatigue.
“Of course. I’ll let the doctor know Xiao is coming around.”
The door closed.
He opened his eyes again, fluttering like butterfly wings. The light didn’t hurt this time, but the dimness cast the world in odd shadows.
Zhongli sat next to him, and even through the blurriness of his vision, Xiao could see his pained smile.
“Hey, you,” Zhongli said, brushing a thumb over Xiao’s temple. “How are you feeling?”
Xiao wasn’t sure. Instead of answering, he reached a hand toward his face. Something large and plastic covered his mouth and nose-
Zhongli took hold of his hand and pulled it away.
“Leave that for now, okay?” he said. “It’s just an oxygen mask.”
An oxygen mask? But why-
His brows furrowed as he tried to remember, tried to think through the pain (blinding agony, everything hurt-)
“Shhh,” Zhongli said. He held both of Xiao’s hands in one of his own as the other continued stroking his hair. “You had a seizure and stopped breathing for a bit; that’s all.”
Oh. It had been a while since his last seizure. Ten months? Eleven? They never did figure out what was causing them, but that wasn’t surprising. The fact he stopped breathing probably wasn’t good, though. At least they didn’t intubate him—he must have started on his own again when the seizure stopped.
“Sorry,” he rasped, his throat sore. The oxygen mask muffled it.
Zhongli shook his head.
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “You woke up for a little bit after, but you weren’t very lucid. I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”
It made sense—Xiao always felt sort of weird after seizures. He’d only had a few since his first four years ago, but each time was horrible.
“It’s okay; you can keep resting,” Zhongli said, and Xiao nodded.
He was very tired.
Xiao drifted to the feeling of Zhongli’s hand on his hair, half asleep. Time passed, jumping forward in leaps and bounds of semi-consciousness. He came to the next time the door opened.
“Dr. Gunnhildr,” Zhongli said, relief palpable in his voice.
Xiao liked Dr. Gunnhildr. She was the primary on his case this admission and worked in concert with his regular doctors, which was practically a miracle. The hardest part of seeing so many physicians was the lack of communication between them, something that Zhongli usually had to facilitate himself.
“Hello. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here,” Dr. Gunnhildr said softly.
As she approached, her shoes tapped on the floor, and Xiao heard her lift the chart from the end of his bed.
“I was told he had a seizure. He’s woken up since?” she asked.
“Twice. Once a couple minutes after, and again about forty minutes ago.”
Xiao opened his eyes just as Dr. Gunnhildr looked at him.
She smiled. “Ah, and there he is now. How are you doing, Xiao? Are you breathing okay?”
He nodded and winced as the motion made the pain flare in his skull.
Dr. Gunnhildr frowned and rechecked his chart.
“Has he had anything for his headache? I don’t see anything written.”
Zhongli scowled, although his thumb gently rubbed a circle into the back of Xiao’s hand.
“He hasn’t had anything other than a dose of Clobazam. They said they didn’t want to risk letting the seizure continue when he stopped breathing, but they refused to give anything else.” His stress showed through as he spoke with an unusual amount of tension in his tone. Xiao must have scared him.
Dr. Gunnhildr muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like “at least they did something right,” but Xiao couldn’t be sure.
“I’ll have something brought for him,” she said, scribbling something on his chart. She underlined the words several times before replacing it in its spot.
Dr. Gunnhildr stepped forward, pulling a penlight from her pocket.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” she said and crouched beside the bed. “I know this will be uncomfortable, but I need to check how your pupils are dilating.”
He sighed and nodded, this time keeping the motion smaller.
Zhongli squeezed his hand as Dr. Gunnhildr turned on the light. She flashed it in one of his eyes a few times before doing the same to the other. Then she bounced between the two.
“It looks okay,” she said as she stood. “And the responding physician notes say there were no signs of any brain damage, but we’ll schedule an MRI just in case. Maybe we’ll get lucky and figure out what’s causing this.”
If only, but Xiao knew how unlikely that was.
“Dr. Gunnhildr,” Zhongli started. “Before—the team assigned to his case refused to give him pain relief.”
Xiao watched her expression harden.
“Is that so?” she asked. Her voice was even and polite, but there was anger hidden behind it. “His chart specifically states what dose he should be given if needed and how often. They didn’t follow those instructions?”
“No,” Zhongli replied, his jaw tight. “The nurse gave me excuses about mandates and the doctor’s comfort, and then the doctor had other... interesting words to use. That wasn’t long before his seizure.”
Dr. Gunnhildr picked up his chart again. Her eyes scanned the page, and after a moment, her expression darkened.
“I see,” she said. “Dr. Eroch rarely works in pediatrics; he must have been covering for somebody. I’ll make sure I have a word with him and whoever does the scheduling. He won’t be placed on Xiao’s case again, and I’ll have Cherri—the nurse you spoke to—replaced as well.”
“Thank you,” Zhongli told her, relief clear in his tone. Xiao could feel him slump a little.
“Are you still in pain?” Dr. Gunnhildr asked Xiao. “Other than your headache. We’ll get you something if you are.”
He nodded again. That- that would be nice.
“Okay,” she said. “Migraine and painkillers.” Dr. Gunnhildr pulled a pad from her coat pocket and scribbled something. She referenced his chart, nodded to herself, and signed it.
“Somebody will be in asap to give you those and take you off the oxygen,” she told them, “and I’ll get the request for an MRI sent in. I know you have your regular neurologist, and I’ll have it sent over there, but I’m going to ask one of ours to look at it as well if that’s okay with you.”
“Yes, please,” Zhongli replied. He sounded a little desperate, and his hand tightened on Xiao’s.
“The tests came back clear,” Dr. Gunnhildr said. She stood a few feet away from them, giving them space. Xiao appreciated it.
He had expected nothing different, but as predictable as the outcome was, it still hurt. Some small traitorous part of him had dared to hope.
“So we aren’t any closer to figuring out what’s wrong,” Zhongli said. His voice was empty, numb. It made Xiao feel small, guilt eating at him like a corrosive substance.
“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Gunnhildr replied. She opened his file, her eyes scanning the pages. “He’s had every test we can think of over the years. Almost all of them have come back as normal, with the exception of a few inconclusive results.”
Zhongli pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a frustrated breath. Xiao hunched forward more, tugging the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
“So, what’s the next step?” Zhongli asked, after regaining some of his composure.
“With your permission, I’d like to send his file and a blood sample to a colleague. Dr. Rhinedottir is a rare disease specialist with a history in genetics and chemical pathology. She might find something that we overlooked.”
Zhongli was already nodding.
“Of course. What do I need to sign?”
“I’ll bring the paperwork and go through it with you to make sure we send as accurate information as possible,” Dr. Gunnhildr replied. “The waitlist is long, but the sooner we get you on it, the sooner she can see you.”
She was speaking to him. Xiao nodded absently, only half paying attention to the surrounding conversation.
Zhongli said something else, probably asking for names, contact information, and a dozen other questions. He kept track of every doctor Xiao saw, every appointment, had copies of medical reports, referrals, test results, and medication lists detailing what worked and what didn’t. He kept all the correspondence with doctors, either letters or emails. The binder Zhongli kept it all in was several inches thick and marked by each year with dividers.
Xiao had caught him pouring over it late at night on more than one occasion, as if staring at the pages upon pages of documentation would provide an answer to his illness.
How different would Zhongli’s life be If Xiao had never ended up in his care? How much better? He could have had a partner and children of his own; gotten a job in his field of study instead of picking the first one with decent pay. (Zhongli always said he didn’t mind working at the funeral parlour, but Xiao knew he only took the job because of money and the flexible hours.)
Maybe, without a sick child, Zhongli would have gotten his Ph.D. He could have been a professor, historian, or museum curator.
He could have been successful and happy instead of a no-name consultant balancing his life like spinning plates.
“Xiao?” Zhongli said, his voice soft, like coaxing a wounded animal. He put a warm hand on Xiao’s shoulder. “We’ll figure this out-“
Xiao wanted to scream, to kick and bite and punch something because they wouldn’t. It took years for a doctor to take them seriously and accept that something was wrong in the first place. Six years later, they were no closer to a diagnosis than when Xiao was told he was overreacting.
But he’d still (stupidly, naively-) hoped.
“I’d like to be alone,” he said, cutting Zhongli off.
There was a moment of stunned, tense silence, and Xiao bit his lip, stubbornly keeping his gaze locked on the sheets. If Zhongli saw his face, Xiao was sure he wouldn’t leave.
Slowly, Zhongli pulled away.
“Okay,” he said, standing. “I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
Xiao nodded. He waited until Zhongli left the room; the door closing with a quiet click, and then he broke.
He sobbed, shoving the blanket against his mouth to muffle the gut-wrenching sound. If Zhongli overheard, he would worry even more.
Xiao hated this. He hated the hospitals and the doctors and the tests and himself. He wanted this to stop—would do anything to make it stop. Even a terminal diagnosis would be better than nothing because at least then, he’d know. There would be no more limbo where he drifted between yet more specialists sat through another pointless test-
He curled onto his side, hugging his pillow to his chest as he cried.
It took all his self-control not to rip his feeding tube from his face or to tear at his central line until he bled. Neither of those things would help, but oh, how Xiao wanted to.
Xiao lay listlessly in his bed. He had no desire to get up—pain and sickness and soul-aching numbness conspired with his usual exhaustion to keep him bed-bound. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
Zhongli hovered, fussing over him with palpable anxiety. He tried to engage Xiao in conversation, play games or do puzzles, but Xiao had no interest.
The only enjoyment he took was from books. Zhongli read them aloud, his voice deep and steady, like the earth’s immovable stone. Even if Xiao couldn’t focus enough to listen, the cadence of his guardian’s voice was soothing.
Other times, Zhongli merely sat, his hand petting Xiao’s hair as he stared ahead, unseeing.
Xiao could sometimes hear hushed conversations outside his door, but they were too quiet to discern without getting up. He didn’t care enough to eavesdrop. If it mattered, Zhongli would tell him.
Dr. Gunnhildr stopped by more often. Usually, she visited him once a day on her morning rounds, but she was coming to speak with him two or three times now. The nurses picked up their checks too, and Xiao wondered vaguely what they were looking for.
“How are you doing today, Xiao?” Dr. Gunnhildr asked.
To Xiao, the answer was obvious. He had bundled himself in his blanket, curled into a question mark as he held a pillow to his chest. His head ached, and nausea haunted him like a ghost clinging to his shadow. The pain was an old friend that wrapped around his bones and twined through his muscles like ribbons. But the exhaustion- the aching emptiness in his chest was almost worse.
He didn’t answer, closing his eyes inside.
Next to him, Zhongli let out a quiet, pained sound.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Gunnhildr said. “This must be an immensely difficult situation. You’ve been very brave these last weeks.”
Brave? What other option was there? To lie down and die? (It was becoming more and more appealing as the days went on.) Xiao wasn’t brave—he was just surviving.
Dr. Gunnhildr didn’t wait for his response, which was for the best. Xiao wouldn’t have given her one.
“Another patient, Collei, has been asking about you. She’s wondering if it would be okay for her to visit,” Dr. Gunnhildr said.
Xiao opened his eyes in confusion. Collei wanted to see him?
That grabbed Zhongli’s attention. He looked at Xiao. “Collei? Is that your new friend?”
Xiao frowned. “We aren’t friends,” he said. “We’ve only spoken a few times.”
Dr. Gunnhildr nodded, her expression giving nothing away. “I’ll tell her you aren’t feeling up to the company then,” she said.
Wait, no-
Collei would be disappointed, and Xiao hated the thought of being the cause. She always looked so happy. Why she bothered caring about him was a mystery, but Xiao didn’t want to be the cause of any sadness.
“It’s fine,” Xiao muttered. “She can visit if she wants to.”
Zhongli smiled and ran his fingers through Xiao’s hair. Their interactions were more strained than usual over the last couple of days, something Xiao hated but didn’t know how to fix.
(It had been years of this. Xiao was too used to it to be angry anymore. Exhaustion numbed out every other emotion, leaving Xiao floating unmoored in a sea of ice. Eventually, he would drown.)
Zhongli waited until Dr. Gunnhildr left to speak.
“You do have a friend,” he said. “I’m proud of you, Xiao. I know how difficult making friends is for you.”
Because who wanted to be friends with the weird, chronically ill kid? Nobody bullied him about it—in fact, everybody was disgustingly kind, but few people wanted to be friends. Most of his peers only spoke to him out of pity.
Lumine and Aether were different. They actually wanted to know him, and Kaeya understood in a way few others could—he had been from an abusive household, too, and spent most of his childhood plagued by health issues. (He still was, although Kaeya rarely spoke of it, even to Xiao. There was still a silent solidarity between them, and it was a comfort to talk to somebody who would never ask the things Xiao didn’t want to answer.)
(For a long time, the doctors blamed Xiao’s illness on his mother and his history, saying that he’d get better with proper care and nutrition. He never did.)
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, and Zhongli called for them to enter.
The door opened, revealing Collei. She sat in a wheelchair, a crocheted blanket decorated with strawberries draped over her shoulders. Behind her was a man Xiao didn’t recognize.
Collei... didn’t look well. Xiao could relate.
“Hey, Xiao!” Collei said, waving. Her hands shook, but her smile was as bright as always.
Zhongli stood, stepping away so the man could wheel her next to the bed.
“Hi! I’m Collei,” she introduced herself to Zhongli, smiling at him.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Collei,” Zhongli said. “I’m Zhongli, Xiao’s father.”
The man set the brakes on Collei’s wheelchair and stepped back.
“Tighnari,” he introduced himself, holding a hand out to Zhongli. “Collei’s foster parent.”
Collei winced, the expression barely discernible. Xiao would have missed it had he not been looking directly at her.
So, she was a foster kid. That made sense.
Tighnari turned to Xiao. “I’ve heard a lot about you; I’m glad to finally meet you. I’m just sorry it isn’t under better circumstances.”
“Yeah,” he muttered.
A moment of awkward silence passed before Zhongli spoke.
“Tighnari, do you drink coffee? Tea?”
There was a look of pure relief on Tighnari’s features. He must not have been keen on socialization.
“Tea, yes,” he said.
“Why don’t we leave them for a bit to talk?” he said and walked toward the door. Tighnari followed. “There’s a little café nestled in the corner downstairs that makes the most lovely herbal teas. Have you been there?”
“I haven’t. I didn’t even know it was there-“
The door shut behind them, muffling their voices.
“Of course, he hits it off over tea,” Collei said with a sigh, and Xiao let out his almost laugh. It made her smile.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Tighnari is my foster dad,” she said, staring down at her lap. “People just get so weird about it—not that I’m saying you will! It’s just happened so many times, and I couldn’t take having another thing that makes me different, especially when I had just met you, and you didn’t treat me like I’m made of glass-“
She was rambling, nervously picking at the threads of the blanket around her shoulders.
“I’m adopted,” Xiao cut her off, and Collei went silent, her eyes wide with surprise.
He shrugged at her expression.
“Zhongli was my neighbour when I was a kid, so he saw and heard... a lot of stuff.” Too much stuff for a twenty-three-year-old grad student to deal with. His other neighbours had already called social services what felt like a dozen times, and they had removed Xiao from his home and sent back so often that nothing felt stable. “When things went bad, he took me in. He officially adopted me when I was ten. So I get it; it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
Xiao hated talking about his mother. It made his arm ache with old memories, the pain of a bone sheared by a spiral fracture. He’d needed surgery to fix it, and Zhongli stuck by him the entire time-
The look of relief on Collei’s face made it worth the discomfort.
They spoke about nothing for a while. Collei talked about her friend, and Xiao told her about Lumine and Aether in response.
Her eyes widened. “Wait! Lumine and Aether? The twins?”
The way she spoke of them surprised Xiao. “Do you know them?” he asked.
Collei shook her head, but she still seemed to vibrate with excitement.
“I don’t, but my best friend, Amber, has told me all about them!”
Amber. The name drew a vague recollection of one of Lumine and Aether’s other friends—a girl a year younger than him. The one with long brown hair who took Outdoor Ed. She was friendly, even if she didn’t get along with Kaeya particularly well. (Everybody loved Kaeya, but some people could see glimpses behind his mask. Amber had, and she hadn’t liked what she saw. Xiao couldn’t blame her, but he understood Kaeya differently. Hiding emotions was survival; several years in a loving home wasn’t enough to undo that developmental framework, Xiao would know.)
“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Xiao said.
“Small world!” she said excitedly. “Amber has been trying really hard to get me to meet Lumine and Aether, but our schedules never lined up. Maybe we can all hang out sometime!”
Doubtful.
“Yeah, maybe.”
Collei let the silence settle between them as she looked around the room. Decorations and bits of Xiao’s life were scattered around the space. A photo of him and Zhongli rested on his bedside table—one of the first taken. Xiao was six and fell asleep on the couch. Zhongli hadn’t wanted to risk moving him. Venti had found them asleep together the next morning and snapped a picture.
“I missed you these last few days,” she eventually said. “It’s boring with nobody to talk to.”
“You shouldn’t,” Xiao replied, “miss me, I mean.”
Collei’s expression shifted into a scowl. It was the first time he had witnessed it.
“And why not?” she asked incredulously.
Xiao had a lot of answers, but he didn’t think Collei would appreciate any of them. (She might also tell somebody, and if Zhongli found out, his guardian would worry even more-)
He shrugged instead, opting to say nothing.
Collei let out a sigh but didn’t press, and Xiao took the opportunity to change the subject.
“You’re in a wheelchair,” he said, and Collei flushed a deep pink.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, looking away. “It’s not bad or anything. I just slipped yesterday, so Tighnari and the doctors agreed I should use a chair for now.”
Collei chatted about anything and everything, filling the space with stories about Tighnari and the animals which frequented their home—she apparently lived an hour away in a national park.
“He’s teaching me all about botany. He has a Ph.D. in Environmental Sciences, but he specializes in plants,” Collei explained. “He knows so much about conservation! It’s fascinating. Did you know that train tracks are actually really hazardous to bears? Also, some types of squirrels are classified as invasive species.”
He didn’t. One thing he did know is that Collei apparently really, really liked plants. She had what seemed like a million facts about them, and a deep understanding of their biology.
“I can’t stand mushrooms, though. Did you know that some mushrooms have more in common with humans than plants? Animals, including humans, share a common ancestor that broke away after plants did, so we share more genetic material with them than plants. Maybe all types of fungi instead of just mushrooms,” Collei shrugged. “I can’t remember, but it doesn’t really matter. For whatever reason, Tighnari loves mushrooms—he forages them in the forest, but I’ve sat through far too many impromptu lessons about the dangers of eating fungi that I just can’t.”
Zhongli and Tighnari returned eventually, after too long to have just been getting tea. But Zhongli looked better, like some of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
“Hey, Butterfly,” he said, taking a sip from the to-go cup in his hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Xiao replied. It wasn’t a complete lie. He felt better after chatting with Collei.
“Alright, come on, Collei,” Tighnari said. “Let’s give your friend a rest.”
She nodded and gave Xiao a joyful smile.
“We’ll talk again soon, okay?” she told him, and Xiao nodded. That didn’t sound too bad.
Tighnari wheeled Collei from the room, and Zhongli took his seat neck to the bed.
“How was that?” Zhongli asked.
Xiao shrugged. “Not the worst, I guess.”
He wondered how many orders of tea Zhongli had.
“Hey Kiddo, I heard you have a surgery date.”
Xiao looked up from his book, glancing across the room from his spot by the window. His expression shifted into a rare smile, although it only lasted a moment.
“Venti,” he greeted, and almost laughed as his cousin walked over and ruffled his hair.
He bated Venti’s hands away and tried to smooth down his hair with varying degrees of success. It was too long, but Xiao didn’t trust Zhongli near his hair.
(When he was new to Zhongli’s care, there wasn’t a lot of money to go around, even with government payments for fostering him. He had some genuinely terrible haircuts during that time, and the photos prove it. Eventually, his neighbour took pity on him and started doing it herself.)
“How are you feeling about everything?” Venti asked, taking a seat next to him on the small couch.
Xiao pulled his legs closer to his chest, making room for Venti. It was comfortable to sit with him.
He shrugged, looking away.
“To be honest, I don’t feel much of anything,” he admitted. “Getting a feeding tube put into my abdomen won’t solve the problem; it’ll just make it easier to stay at home.”
“It will be easier to take medication, too,” Venti pointed out.
That was undoubtedly a benefit. It was always a struggle to take medicine without throwing it up before it even got the chance to work, which always stressed Zhongli out.
Xiao sighed, his excitement at seeing Venti fading back into numbness as he tilted his head against the wall behind him.
“I just want to go home,” Xiao said.
“I know,” Venti replied. He picked up Xiao’s hand and squeezed it between his own. “But it won’t be long now, and then you won’t have to worry about dehydration or throwing up everything you eat.”
“That doesn’t fix the fatigue or the pain.”
“No,” Venti agreed, “it doesn’t, and I’m sorry about that. But this is something, isn’t it? At least a little relief? Some independence and the ability to stay home instead of being stuck here for weeks at a time.”
“I guess,” Xiao muttered. He kept his eyes closed, momentarily giving in to the exhaustion.
“Zhongli said you made a friend, at least!” Venti said. “Colleen or something?”
“Collei,” Xiao corrected him, glancing at Venti. “She’s fine, I guess.”
“Just fine? And here I was thinking you would make friends with somebody interesting.”
Xiao sighed again. “She’s nice. Happy?”
“Why yes, I am! Thank you ever so much for asking,” Venti said, grinning, and Xiao rolled his eyes.
His cousin leaned forward with interest. “Really though, what else can you tell me about her? I hardly know anything about your friends. I’ve only met Lumine and Aether.”
“That’s because Lumine and Aether are my only friends,” Xiao replied.
It wasn’t exactly true, but it was close enough. Kaeya was almost a friend, given their similar histories, but half to time, Xiao just walked away upon seeing him. Kaeya was far too outgoing. And, also, his older brother was moderately terrifying.
“I doubt that’s true,” Venti told him. “But that isn’t the point. Tell me more about Collei.”
Xiao considered. “She likes plants.”
“Aww, that’s adorable,” Venti replied, smiling. “Succulents, flowers, or some other kind?”
“All plants, I think. She has a lot of stickers of different ones. I guess her foster father knows a lot about them.”
That made his cousin hum. Venti rubbed his hand up and down Xiao’s arm, the touch comforting.
“So she’s a foster than, huh? You must understand her better than most,” he said, and Xiao looked away.
He shrugged, staring obstinately out the window.
“Not really,” he said. “Zhongli adopted me years ago, remember?”
“But he fostered you for almost four years before that,” Venti pointed out. “And you spent a long time bouncing between your mom and the system.”
Xiao didn’t really want to think about that. They removed him from his mother three times before Zhongli came along, and each time, the court awarded back custody. ‘Reunification,’ they called it. Xiao thought of it in less generous terms, but his situation ended with a broken arm requiring surgery, police involvement, and years of therapy. It still bothered him to think about it, the event an old fear like a wound in his chest, forever a scab waiting to come loose.
“I guess,” he muttered, hoping Venti would pick up on his desire to change the topic.
His cousin did.
“You’ll have to find out her favourite plant,” Venti said. “I bet she knows some good ones.”
She probably did. Collei seemed like the type to know the most obscure plants or the weird ones. Something like a Venus Flytrap or Corpse Flower.
“Will you cut my hair?” Xiao asked, changing the topic even further. “I don’t trust Zhongli near sharp objects.”
Venti laughed loudly at that.
“Can’t say I blame you, kiddo,” he replied. “I stood witness to his worst kitchen disasters. And also watched him butcher your poor hair.”
“So, will you?” Xiao asked. “It’s driving me insane.”
“I don’t just carry around scissors, Xiao,” Venti said, and Xiao rolled his eyes.
“You live like five minutes away.”
“Fuck you; I live fifteen minutes away.”
In the end, Venti went to get his scissors.
They did it in the bathroom, and the nurses were more than happy to supply them with garbage bags to spread across the floor. Xiao knew it was because they pitied him, but at least his hair wouldn’t be so long.
Venti stood behind him, combing his hair and snipping strands to even out the bottom.
“I’m glad you’ve made a friend, Xiao,” Venti suddenly said. “I think you and Collei could both probably use one.”
He wasn’t wrong, but Xiao didn’t tell him that.
Xiao knew Collei was getting worse. He could see it in her fatigue and the way her hands shook. How she failed to maintain her grip on anything, and the extended periods she spent in her wheelchair. But she never brought it up, so Xiao didn’t either. After all, they both already knew how this would end—Collei would be lucky to make it to twenty.
That said, it still surprised him when Tighnari came to his room.
“Collei wants to see you,” he said, “but she’ll understand if you aren’t feeling up to it.” He looked exhausted, the dark circles beneath his eyes rivalling even Zhongli’s.
Xiao’s guardian sat in the room, and the two men made eye contact in silent solidarity, some unspoken understanding passing between them.
“You can go if you want,” Zhongli said, his voice soft. Even with Tighnari there, Zhongli would never pressure Xiao. If he said no, his guardian would accept it.
Something told him that Tighnari would, too.
Xiao agreed. He brought his book as he crawled out of bed, and Zhongli helped untangle his various wires. It didn’t take long—they both knew which cord did what by now, and what order they needed to be in to keep from tangling.
The walk to Collei’s room was short. He was moving slower than he used to, but it only took a few minutes. She stayed just down the hallway, and the pediatric ward wasn’t very big to start.
Her door was open, and Xiao stopped in the doorway.
Collei’s room was similar in layout to his own. Even her decorations weren’t that far off, although hers were more plant themed than his, something Collei took great pride in as she showed him around weeks before.
It looked lifeless now, with Collei tucked neatly beneath the blankets. She looked frail and weak, a nasal cannula delivering extra oxygen to her struggling lungs.
At least she was awake. She spoke to a man sitting at her bedside that Xiao didn’t recognize. His long white hair was braided, and he held a tablet, flipping through pages of something. A few books were piled haphazardly on the floor.
For a moment, Xiao stared, but Tighnari passed him and stepped into the room.
“Cyno,” he called, and the white-haired man looked up. His red eyes immediately found Xiao, and Collei’s tired eyes followed his gaze.
She smiled weakly.
“Hi,” she said, and Xiao swallowed a lump in his throat.
“You look terrible,” he replied, the first thought that came to his mind.
Collei laughed, and even a few of the adults chuckled.
“You’re not looking too great yourself,” she told him.
Xiao shifted from foot to foot as Cyno stood, only Zhongli’s hand on his shoulder keeping him in place.
“Cyno, this is Xiao and his father, Zhongli,” Tighnari introduced before looking at the two of them. “This is Cyno, my partner.”
Small talk followed, and Xiao hardly paid attention as the adults spoke. He moved to Collei’s side to claim the chair Cyno had vacated, tugging his IV pole alongside him.
She held out her hand to him, and Xiao only hesitated for a moment before taking it.
They had never touched before. Collei had never tried, and Xiao wasn’t a fan of physical contact outside of Zhongli and Venti. Everybody else made him feel like his skin was crawling, a thousand ants burrowing into his flesh.
He was sure she would understand if he said no, but Xiao didn’t mind if it made her feel less alone.
“How bad is it?” he asked, his voice low enough that they weren’t overheard.
Collei gave him a sad smile, and that was answer enough.
Spending a lot of time in the hospital while growing up meant Xiao had a different view of mortality than most. He had met other children only for them to die a week or a month later and had witnessed suffering few people could dream of.
And so Xiao didn’t care that Collei had a terminal illness. It wasn’t awkward to him or something to avoid thinking about. She would die one day, just like he would, and it was unlikely either of them would be old when it happened.
(He wasn’t terminal, but Xiao knew the statistics. People with multiple, severe illnesses tended not to live a whole life—and that was if he didn’t opt out before things got that bad)
It didn’t make seeing Collei suffering any easier.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“I don’t know; I just wanted somebody who would understand,” she replied, and Xiao did. He understood far more than anybody else in her life.
“Do you two want some privacy?” Zhongli asked, calming over. “I don’t mind staying here, but I think Tighnari and Cyno could use a break.”
He looked at Collei for permission, who nodded. She probably knew exactly how exhausted they were.
Xiao shared a look with her, a silent understanding passing between them.
“Privacy would be nice,” he said. Besides, Zhongli needed a break too.
His guardian nodded.
“I have my phone on me. Text me if you need anything. We won’t be gone for long.”
It didn’t take the men long to leave after that. They probably headed downstairs to get more tea, or maybe coffee. Cyno looked like he drank coffee, and the empty to-go cups tossed in the garbage probably weren’t Tighnari’s.
“Thank you for coming,” Collei said. She squeezed her hand, but her grip had almost no strength. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you didn’t.”
Xiao shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do.”
Collei smiled at that. She looked tired.
“Can you do me a favour?” she asked and continued when he nodded. “I can’t text anymore. My hands—I can’t type or hold my phone. Can you send a message to Amber and let her know?” She nodded toward her phone. It was charging on the nightstand. “I couldn’t face Tighnari or Cyno if they saw any of my messages.”
He understood that. Xiao wouldn’t want Zhongli or Venti to see his texts either.
Amber’s contact was easy to find. It seemed she was the only one Collei really spoke to. Any other messages were simple well wishes, and Xiao rolled his eyes at them.
He pulled his hand away from hers as he opened the conversation. The last time Collei responded was three days ago. There had been thirteen messages since then, each with growing concern.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked.
“Tell her you’re a friend and that I’m sorry I didn’t respond. Let her know that I can’t text right now, but I’ll message her in a few days.”
He did and read back the message he typed. With her nod of approval, he hit send.
“You didn’t tell her who you are,” Collei said. “You could have. Your name, I mean. She knows you, right?”
“Sort of,” Xiao answered. He retook her hand and held her phone in the other. “Amber and I don’t really talk. She’s friends with Lumine and Aether, but I doubt she knows anything about my health. Those two don’t share anything about other people, and I didn’t really want to get into it.”
Collei nodded. “I get that,” she replied.
Amber responded almost immediately with a mix of relief and concern. They went back and forth for a few minutes, Xiao transcribing Collei’s words. It was the longest he had spoken to somebody outside the hospital in weeks.
(His group chats and private messages went untouched, some read and some not. Lumine and Aether still texted him every few days, and Kaeya sent the occasional picture of cats, but he didn’t bother responding.)
Eventually, Amber was satisfied. He put the phone down.
The quiet that followed was nice. It was comforting instead of a strained awkwardness. Xiao was always partial to shared silence, content to merely enjoy the existence of another in his space.
“Xiao?” Collei asked, her voice delicate like frost on a spider’s web. “Are you okay?”
Xiao blinked in surprise. The answer seemed self-explanatory. He had been here for weeks and was only just moving around again after his most recent flare. He was sitting beside Collei’s bedside as she died, while Zhongli socialized with her caregivers because they had no other opportunity to make friends. By what definition could that ever be considered ‘okay?’
Collei must have seen something in his expression, because she shook her head.
“Not your health,” she said. “I just mean that I’ve never seen you smile.”
Oh.
Xiao wasn’t sure how to react, but he supposed Collei wasn’t wrong. She had seen the edge of his mouth quirk up and heard his almost-laugh, but when was the last time he had truly smiled?
He looked away from her, his eyes landing on a potted plant. Did Tighnari take care of it? He couldn’t have one in his room—Zhongli killed every plant he touched.
“I guess there just isn’t a lot to smile about,” he replied without looking at her. His voice cracked uncomfortably as he spoke, emotion flooding forward as he confronted the truth.
It felt like a knife twisting in his chest, the pain both agonizing and empty simultaneously, as if his heart had been cut out from beneath his ribs. His eyes burned, and Xiao squashed the emotion down, forcing his breath carefully even.
“I understand,” Collei told him, her voice quiet even in the stillness of the room. “Sometimes I think I fake being happy so often that I forget real happiness is like. I have to keep busy because when I don’t have much to keep me occupied, old thought patterns start to creep back in, and—as soon as I start talking about it, the flashbacks start...”
Xiao didn’t know Collei’s history, but he didn’t need to. He squeezed her hand, hoping it provided some small comfort. Wherever she was before Tighnari, it wasn’t good.
“I still have dreams,” he said, just as hushed. “Horrific nightmares of my mother. I can’t even remember her face, but I always know it’s her.”
Collei sniffled.
“Xiao?” she said, her eyes watering. “Promise me you won’t forget me.”
He swallowed dryly.
“I promise.”
On the day of his surgery, Zhongli sat at his bedside pre-op, holding his hand and rambling nervously about clients and work emails. Xiao only half listened, trying to shove down the intrinsic panic at the thought of being cut open. The procedure to get his central line in was bad enough, but to have a tube inserted into his abdomen?
The anesthesiologist, Dr. Kusanali, was kind. Her voice was soft and calming, and she spoke in plain, easy-to-understand words without treating him as a child.
“Would you like your dad to be there when we induce the anaesthesia?” Dr. Kusanali asked, and Xiao didn’t have to think before he answered.
“Yes,” he said without skipping a beat, his hand clutching Zhongli’s tightly as anxiety pounded in his chest. He felt sort of dizzy, his head spinning, and Xiao felt a flash of fear that he would have another seizure. What would happen then?
Dr. Kusanali smiled. “We can do that.” She turned to Zhongli. “One of the surgical nurses will walk you through everything. You will have to leave after the induction, but we will send for you once he’s in post-op recovery.”
Zhongli nodded, his mouth pressed into a firm line. He looked calm, but Xiao knew him better than that. Zhongli was worried, tension held in the lines of his face and the rigidity of his posture.
“Do either of you have any questions?” Dr. Kusanali asked.
“What if I have a seizure?” Xiao spoke up. “We never know when they’re coming.”
She smiled softly. “It’s certainly possible to have a seizure under general anaesthesia, but it’s rare. The combination of medication we use to put you to sleep actually includes medicine that makes seizures stop. If you do, I’ll be monitoring your vitals and warn the surgeon if anything is out of the ordinary, so we’ll be able to take steps to avoid it before it starts.”
Xiao took some small comfort in that and nodded.
Later, as he lay on the operating room table, Xiao felt like a child again. It reminded him too much of being six years old, skinny and sick, the bone in his arm broken by his mother’s torquing grasp. Zhongli had been there then too, petting Xiao’s hair with nitrile-covered hands. If Xiao could see into his past, he was sure it would mirror their position now.
“You’re okay,” Zhongli reassured him, his voice steady and unwavering even behind a surgical mask. “It will be over soon, and if all goes well, you’ll get to come home before you know it.”
The nurses and doctors moved around them, and Xiao grasped his guardian’s hand in a vice-like grip, wishing he could feel the warmth of Zhongli’s palms through the gloves.
Dr. Kusanali checked in every few minutes until they were ready, and Xiao’s breath caught as she pulled the thick, bulky mask toward him. He flinched when she got too close, his eyes burning as he moved closer to Zhongli without realizing it. It was too much, too familiar.
“It’s okay,” Zhongli whispered. “Take your time; just breathe.”
He was wasting everybody’s time with his stupid, childish fear, but Xiao couldn’t help it.
“Deep breaths, Xiao. In and out. I’m here; just focus on me.”
Xiao could do that. For most of his life, Zhongli had been an anchor in a stormy sea, keeping him steady amidst the churning waves. Zhongli had sat with Xiao through panic attacks, therapy sessions, injuries and bouts of severe illness—always there, always comforting.
It will be fine, he told himself, pushing back against the memories that paralyzed his lungs.
It took longer than Xiao wanted to admit before he could give a shaky nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’m ready.”
He kept a tight hold on Zhongli’s hand as Dr. Kusanali pressed the mask over his mouth.
“Breathe deeply and count back from ten,” she told him.
Xiao did and felt the drowsiness take hold in a moment. He was only vaguely aware of Zhongli pressing a kiss to his temple.
For all the fear and anxiety, the surgery itself was anticlimactic.
He woke to Zhongli’s fingers in his hair, combing slowly. A deep ache centred in his abdomen, but it was hardly enough to register through the haze of painkillers.
“Did it go okay?” he mumbled, blinking blearily.
“Yes. You did wonderfully,” Zhongli replied, his voice soft.
Drowsy as he was, Xiao still felt light at the praise. He didn’t even do anything to deserve it, but the feeling still warmed him inside.
They moved him to his room shortly after, and Zhongli fussed until the exhaustion won out, and Xiao fell asleep again.
He woke several hours later to the sound of quiet conversation, but not enough to truly make sense of anything he heard.
“The kid doing okay?” Venti asked.
“I think so—just tired. You know how it is,” Zhongli replied.
“I do.” A beat of silence. “Are you doing okay?”
Zhongli hesitated. “I’ll be better once I have Xiao home again. It’s difficult seeing him here.”
Venti let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah. He’s pretty miserable.”
“Yes, he is,” Zhongli said with a sigh. “The doctor hopes being home will help. I worry it won’t. Being home won’t solve our difficulties.”
“It’ll certainly help,” Venti replied. “It’s more comfortable, and he has a degree of independence that he doesn’t have here. That’s important for kids.”
“I suppose.”
“You’re doing great, Zhongli. You know that. It’s a bitch of a situation, but you’re keeping it together better than most parents would—that matters. We’ve both read those parenting books; your reaction affects how well he copes.”
Zhongli didn’t say anything, and Venti sighed.
“What does your mini support group think?”
“What?” Zhongli asked incredulously.
“You know, his friend’s dads,” Venti said.
“You mean Tighnari and Cyno?”
“Yeah, who else? Now, what do they think?”
Xiao let himself doze, only partially aware of their presence in the room. When he woke next, some nebulous amount of time later, he didn’t remember a thing.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Venti said upon seeing Xiao’s eyes slip open. “How are you feeling?”
Terrible, Xiao thought but didn’t say. Instead, he ignored the question.
“Zhongli?” he asked.
“Just stepped out to go to the washroom,” Venti reassured him. “He’ll be back before you know it. Now, are you in pain? Anything pulling that shouldn’t be?”
Xiao shook his head. He was mostly just tired. But he wanted to see Zhongli, so Xiao forced himself to stay awake.
Venti was right—it didn’t take long for Zhongli to return.
“-not sure he’s awake, but I’ll tell him,” Zhongli said, opening the door. He stopped for a moment before smiling. “Nevermind,” he told whoever was in the hall before turning his attention to Xiao. “Tighnari is here. Are you feeling up to a visitor?”
Not particularly, but Xiao wasn’t about to say that. He nodded tiredly and watched as Zhongli allowed Tighnari into the room—
Tighnari with a massive bouquet of light purple and white flowers. They were already trimmed and placed in a glass vase.
The man smiled when he entered.
“From Collei and I,” he said, “and Cyno, I suppose, for all he knows nothing about flowers. Collei picked them out.”
“What are they?” Xiao asked, his voice raspy and exhausted.
“Padisarah’s,” Tighnari replied. He put them on the nightstand in the partial shade. “The name is said to come from an ancient deity. She was once friends with two other powerful gods and ruled over a plain covered in beautiful flowers that people would gather and use as incense to offer to their gods. Those flowers no longer exist, since they went extinct alongside the goddess, but the Padisarshs we have now are said to be an imitation.”
“They’re pretty.”
“They are,” Tighnari agreed. “They’re also challenging to care for as a plant since the conditions for its growth are very demanding, but bouquets are easier. The water has some plant food in it already, and I gave Zhongli some to replace it daily. He’ll have to clean the vase daily and trim the stems when needed.”
Venti raised an eyebrow. “For a bouquet?”
“Plants are living things,” Tighnari said, “they may take less effort than animals, but flora is by no means easy to maintain. Bouquets that are not properly cared for will wilt and brown before their time, and one of the leading killers of bouquets is bacteria in the water.”
Xiao half listened to Tighnari’s rambling. He couldn’t help but laugh at the deadpan look Venti gave Zhongli.
The sound seemed to startle the room, and all three adults turned to look at him, but Xiao didn’t notice.
Of course Zhongli would make friends with somebody who could passionately speak about their topics of interest for an hour, and of course Venti wouldn’t be surprised.
“Thank you, Tighnari,” Xiao said.
The man stared at him for a moment before nodding.
“Of course,” Tighnari replied. “Like I said, Collei picked them. Oh- and speaking of Collei, I have some good news. She’s been feeling better lately. The doctor is cautiously optimistic about her response to the clinical trial.”.
‘Cautiously optimistic’ was code for ‘the doctors don’t know if it will last,’ but Xiao was relieved. Any relief was wonderful, even if it didn’t last. Collei deserved better than the suffering she endured.
(Sometimes, that’s all they could wish for—there was no getting better from a chronic illness, especially not a terminal one. There were only good days and bad days, and the prayer that they find relief.)
“I’m gonna miss you,” Collei said miserably. She sat curled in her wheelchair, her arms wrapped around her knees. Venti stood behind her, carefully twisting her hair into a braid.
Apparently, Tighnari couldn’t braid for shit, and Cyno was reluctantly busy with work. Venti offered to help.
Xiao sat on his hospital bed dressed in loose-fitting clothes. He fussed with the special backpack in front of him, clipping his feeding bag and pump into it. His specific feeding tube required slow feedings over eighteen to twenty hours, the same as it had in the hospital, which meant he had to carry the litre of formula and the pump around all day.
“We’ll still talk,” he told her, glancing up before returning to tightening clips and straps. The backpack was simple and black, so at least it wouldn’t draw much attention.
Finally, Xiao was going home. It surprised him at how much he was dreading being away from Collei.
“Yeah,” she said, pouting.
Xiao wasn’t sure she believed him, which was fair. He was notoriously bad for disappearing for weeks at a time. Lumine and Aether were used to it, at least.
“Aww, don’t worry! Zhongli and I won’t let him forget,” Venti said, and Collei smiled at his cheerful tone. Xiao rolled his eyes.
It wasn’t his fault that sometimes socializing was just too exhausting, but Collei was different. She understood him like few others could—with her history in the foster system and her health issues. Unfortunately, he didn’t think she and Kaeya would get along.
“I’ll probably be back here in a month when something else goes wrong,” he joked. His body was prone to failing him in ways he couldn’t imagine, with new symptoms appearing seemingly out of spite.
That was great because no matter what happened, his labs were always fucking normal.
“Don’t say that,” Collei said, sitting forward. Venti had to reach to keep hold of her braid.
Xiao shrugged, looking away.
“It’s the truth, though,” he told her. “Even if I don’t end up here, something will probably happen. Something always happens.”
An awkward silence descended on the room.
I’m an asshole, Xiao thought. Collei was upset, and he made the situation about him.
He took a deep breath and faced her.
“I promise I’ll keep in contact as best I can,” he said. “If I don’t, you have my permission to tell Amber whatever you want and get her to bother me.”
Collei watched him with wide eyes that began to water.
“Wait! Please don’t cry,” Xiao said, panicking at the sight.
Venti thankfully finished Collei’s hair. He tied it off and stepped back just before she shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just- it means a lot to me that you’re my friend, Xiao. You could have just ignored me, but you didn’t.”
Xiao wasn’t good with feelings. He and Zhongli still danced awkwardly around each other and their relationship, even after being adopted for four years. They just never put their emotions into words. Lumine and Aether did, as did Venti, but it still surprised him whenever somebody was so open. At least Kaeya would rather drink bleach than admit to a genuine human emotion to anyone other than his family.
“I did ignore you, though,” he replied dumbly. They barely spoke the first and second times they met.
Collei laughed, and the sound was distinctly watery.
“Shut up and accept my thanks,” she told him, smiling as she rolled her eyes. “I swear, you’re worse than Tighnari and Cyno.”
“Oh, he’s definitely worse than Tighnari and Cyno,” Venti said, having finally met the other two a few days prior. “Have you ever given him a compliment? His brain short circuits.”
Xiao blushed a deep red.
“And how many parenting books did you read?” he muttered, looking down to hide the colour in his cheeks.
“More than Zhongli, that’s for sure!” Venti replied.
Somehow, Xiao doubted that. Zhongli had a secret stash of parenting books hidden under his bed—Xiao found them a couple years ago. Somebody had read them all and left them with worn spines and crinkled pages.
Collei laughed. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, but they were still distinctly red-rimmed. That was okay—Xiao could handle it as long as she wasn’t actively crying.
Venti pulled out his phone so Collei could see her hair in the camera, and Xiao finished packing his feeding tube backpack.
The bag of formula was in the bag’s main pocket, clipped at the top to keep it from moving around. The tubing threaded through a hole in the bottom corner so he could attach it to his j-tube in his abdomen, while another tube went through a hole in the bag's wall. It connected to the pump, which was zipped into the front pocket.
Xiao wasn’t sure how he would carry his school books since he couldn’t use this backpack for that, but he figured that was a problem for the future. At this rate, Xiao wasn’t sure if he was going to return to school. The school year was about to end, and he wasn’t keen on repeating it since he had missed so much.
Maybe he could convince Zhongli to let him drop out. It wasn’t likely, but Xiao could try.
He had time to kill until Zhongli came to pick him up, so Xiao sat on his bed and hung out with Collei. It was nice not being connected to an IV or having to take a pole with him everywhere, and as much as he dreaded the surgery, the tube in his abdomen was better than one threaded through his nose. He could finally breathe properly, something he hadn’t realized he was missing.
Time passed more quickly than he thought it would. When Zhongli arrived, Venti was animatedly telling them about the wonders of corvids.
“Crows, in particular, are super smart,” he said. “They make and use tools and can solve puzzles as well as human children. People usually think of birds like crows and magpies as a nuisance, but they eat insects and rodents, so they’re actually really important to the ecosystem.”
Collei watched Venti with wide-eyed fascination. Although Tighnari worked in conservation, he specialized in botany. Xiao doubted Collei learned much about birds—which just so happened to be one of Venti’s passions.
“Many species of birds are also being driven extinct by house cats,” Zhongli said as he stepped into the room. “It is difficult to know exactly how many birds die per year to house cats, but the estimate is in the billions.” He smiled warmly. “Hello, Collei. How are you doing?”
“Better than the birds, I guess,” she said, shrugging.
Venti snorted and covered his mouth with a hand. The sound made Collei smile.
“Small mercies for that,” Venti replied, laughing.
Xiao hardly paid attention as he zeroed in on the brown, paper-filled folder in Zhongli’s hands.
“Paperwork?” he asked.
Zhongli nodded.
“Discharge forms,” he responded. “Along with the usual care instructions and such. We’re just waiting for Barbara to come with a wheelchair, and we will be good to go.”
Xiao sighed. He knew it was hospital protocol since they worried about his fatigue and the distance between his room and the front of the hospital, but he still hated it. It felt constraining to be in a wheelchair, and despite being constantly assured it didn’t make him any less than others, Xiao still felt ashamed when he needed one.
(He felt ashamed about a lot of things, the feeling sticking as hot in his gut. It ran its fingers across his skin and made Xiao want to dig his nails into flesh.)
His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Collei gave him a sympathetic look. She understood better than the adults, and Xiao took some solace in that.
Venti and Zhongli made quiet conversation as Collei wheeled herself closer.
“You’ll be okay, won’t you?” she asked.
“I doubt they would let me leave if I wouldn’t,” he replied, but they both knew that wasn’t exactly true. Too often, doctors who didn’t know how to treat chronically ill patients sent them home to suffer and die.
Xiao swallowed and looked away. He wondered whether Collei would be in that situation one day, too. She seemed like the type to prefer dying at home in the cradle of nature.
When Barbara came with a wheelchair, Collei squeezed his hand. She didn’t hug him goodbye, and Xiao was thankful for it—neither of them was fond of physical contact.
And then he left.
Being home was surreal. The apartment was almost exactly the same, as if Xiao had been away for days instead of months, albeit less clean.
A thin layer of dust settled on the shelves and antiques Zhongli left carefully displayed. Papers piled on the coffee table and the sink was full of unwashed dishes. The floors needed to be swept, and the recycling taken out—at least somebody remembered to take the trash out.
It made sense. Zhongli spent most of his free time at the hospital. Between Xiao and work, he wouldn’t have had much time to clean. That was okay, though; Xiao was just glad to be home.
He balanced an arm on Zhongli to take off his shoes and kicked them aside into a small pile with a couple of other pairs. Usually, Zhongli would scold him for that, but they were both too tired to care.
Zhongli took off his coat, somehow removing it while holding an armful of paperwork stacked on top of a box. He didn’t bother hanging it in the closet, only tossing it on a bench next to the door.
“Come on,” Zhongli said, “let’s get you into bed.”
Xiao nodded, exhaustion weighing him down. It hadn’t been bad when they left the hospital, but the emotions stirring uncomfortably in his chest stole what little energy he had.
Zhongli guided him to his bedroom, a hand on Xiao’s shoulder keeping him steady.
The door was closed, but the inside was clean. Even the dirty laundry Xiao had left scattered across his floor and overflowing in his basket was gone. His desk was empty of the school work that used to perpetually decorate it, but he could see the papers stacked in neat folders on a shelf.
It smelled like lavender instead of the sweat and sickness it had the last time Xiao was here. There were no discarded dishes of barely touched food or bowls of watery stomach acid left next to the bed.
Warm air drifted through his open window, the curtains fluttering in the summer breeze.
Home.
“Careful of your backpack,” Zhongli said as Xiao slowly sat on the freshly made bed. It dipped comfortably beneath his weight.
Zhongli helped detangle the feeding tube backpack from Xiao’s shoulders, more mindful of the tubes and straps than Xiao would have been.
It was nice to lie down in his own bed again—Xiao missed it. Some part of him settled, tension leaving him in waves, and he curled onto his side beneath the soft blankets. He was only vaguely aware of Zhongli hanging the feeding tube backpack on the bottom corner of his bed frame, like the nurses advised them. It kept the tubing from getting tangled.
Zhongli ran his hand through Xiao’s hair and pressed a kiss into his forehead.
Venti was bringing the rest of Xiao’s belongings from the hospital, and he should really stay awake for that, but he was just so exhausted.
Weeks passed, and summer slowly turned into fall. Leaves changed from green to the colours of sunset—a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and yellows.
Xiao sat at his bedroom desk, his backpack slung over the back of his chair. He tapped his pen against the paper in front of him, the leather medical ID bracelet on his wrist going unnoticed as he focused.
He and Zhongli decided to try online schooling, and it was working so far. It was unfortunate that he had to redo most of the previous year, but at least he didn’t risk failing because of missed classes again.
His phone vibrated, and Xiao sighed. He picked up the device to see a picture from Aether of him, Lumine, and Kaeya eating pizza for lunch.
Right. Xiao forgot when most people ate meals. His day was no longer dictated by the proper time to eat, although he still had a few bites with Zhongli most evenings. Usually, he just had eggs or white bread and peanut butter, since those were what he tolerated most easily. The rest of his meals came from the feeding tube.
It was a surprising relief. Xiao hadn’t realized how much he loathed meal times before, but now it was a non-issue. He could handle the smell of food without wanting to be sick, which was a marked improvement from years spent bent over the toilet bowl.
He didn’t bother responding. Aether wouldn’t be upset about being left on read, which was the only reason Xiao bothered reading the messages. He was about to put the phone down when another text came through—this one from Collei.
Xiao clicked it quickly and was greeted with the image of Collie’s bright smile. She sat on a wooden porch, her hair loose and curly. Cyno and Tighnari sat on either side of her, the former looking noticeably happier about it. It was difficult to make out anything else about the location, but Xiao could see plants growing in the background.
From Collei: Guess who’s home!!!!
She looked good—healthier than Xiao had last seen her, and certainly happier. Her clothes didn’t hang off her body, and her skin tone was a few shades darker than he remembered. Tighnari held a flower decorated cane and Cyno had an arm around her as Collei took the picture.
From Xiao: Congratulations.
Collei read it immediately, and Xiao waited with bated breath as he watched the bubbles showing her response.
From Collei: Thank you!! Tighnari and Cyno say hi too!
Xiao wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Thankfully, Collei didn’t seem to want him to.
What followed was a series of photos of her home. It was beautiful, with tall trees looming far above until they seemed to touch the sky. Plants of all types grew around the other buildings in the clearing. Inside her house, the interior walls were decorated with paintings and photography of animals and landscapes.
It seemed Tighnari enjoyed collecting plants as much as Zhongli did antiques.
From Collei: I’m going to have a welcome home party in a couple of weeks. It’ll just be me, Cyno + Tighnari, Amber, and I’m hoping for Aether and Lumine since I still haven’t met them. Will you come?
Xiao stared at his phone, trying to think of a response. He wanted to see Collei, but being around so many people was exhausting—even if he already knew them all.
From Collei: Zhongli and Venti are invited too! But it’s okay if you can’t/don’t want to.
He bit his lip.
From Xiao: I’ll see.
The forest was a mix of lush green, and fiery colours as they drove. Xiao stared out the window as rocks and trees moved by, his feeding tube bag on the floor by his feet.
Amber, Lumine, and Aether squished into the back, their conversation quiet and comforting. Nobody expected Xiao to contribute, which he was glad about. He was too busy trying not to panic, but at least the adrenaline in his blood kept the exhaustion from last night’s lack of sleep from bothering him.
It hadn’t been that long since Xiao last saw Collei, but the environment was different now. What if she didn’t like him? What if they were only friends by proximity because there was nobody else their age in the ward?
The others were so much more sociable than him. It only made sense that Collei would prefer their company to his. Amber was Collie’s first friend, and the twins were the epitome of social butterflies. Faced with them, Xiao was just Xiao. Just a chronically ill teenager who snapped when people got too close.
He wished Venti could have made it, but his cousin had already committed to perform at a local bar before Collei even invited them.
Zhongli must have noticed his anxiety, but he didn’t say anything about it. Xiao was thankful. He didn’t want to parse through his thoughts in front of the others, even knowing that Lumine and Aether would jump to his defense—probably Amber too, although he didn’t know her nearly as well.
By the time they arrived at Collei’s home, Xiao felt vaguely nauseous. He didn’t say anything as he climbed out of the car and slung the backpack over his shoulders.
The air was different here—crisp and clean. Birds perched high in trees and on top of buildings, watching them with wary interest as a squirrel dashed across the large clearing. Xiao could hear the wind blowing through the trees and the bubble of a brook somewhere nearby. There was a garden in front of Collei’s house, overflowing with a bounty of colourful flowers. He remembered Collei mentioning that they were all natural wildflowers from the area.
Zhongli opened the back of the van and passed Lumine, Aether, and Amber their overnight bags. Amber’s grandfather would pick them up and drive them back tomorrow, but Xiao wasn’t spending the night.
The group started to the little dwelling, kicking up dust. Their weight made the wooden front steps creak, but they remained sturdy. The owners had taken good care of the entire building, and Xiao could spot where they had done little repairs over the years to keep it in good condition. Based on what he knew of Tighnari, it wasn’t surprising.
The door opened before they could knock, and there Collei stood, beaming. She wore a sundress that didn’t hide the dark, hardened scales across her skin. It must have been purposeful, and Xiao did his best not to let his attention linger there. She supported some of her weight with the flowery cane Xiao had seen pictures of.
“You’re here!” she said happily, carefully staying out of arm’s reach. “Please, come inside! Tighnari is making snacks if anybody is hungry.”
She stepped aside to let them enter, talking all the while.
She’s nervous, Xiao thought, watching how she held herself as they moved through the small hallway from the entrance.
They stopped in the living room, where there was a tv with a video game system and a few controllers. Several bookshelves lined the walls, with potted plants scattered around the room.
Cyno sat on a comfortable couch with a soft-looking throw blanket tossed over the arm. He dressed casually in jeans and a hoodie (with animal ears on the hood?) but was distracted by the coffee table full of papers in front of him.
Collei frowned upon seeing him.
“I thought you said you weren’t going to be working today,” she said, the distinct sound of disappointment in her voice.
Cyno looked up, and his eyes widened.
“Oh,” he said, looking back at the papers in front of him, “I must have lost track of time. I’ll just finish this and then-“
Tighnari’s voice called from another room, cutting him off.
“Put it away, Cyno!”
The man sighed, but acquiesced. He stood and motioned to the catch as he started piling the papers.
“Sorry, I’ll be out of your hair in a second,” he told them.
“No problem, sir!” Amber said with a bright smile.
They piled onto the couch, putting Collei on one end and Xiao on the other. He put his backpack on the floor next to Aether, who sat with his legs crisscrossed on the carpet. Cyno tossed Collei the remote, and it landed softly in her lap.
Zhongli stepped forward to help Cyno move the files, and soon the table was clear.
“Thanks,” he told Zhongli before turning to them. “Tighnari’s making snacks, so he’ll probably be out with them soon.”
The adults left after that, and Xiao overheard Zhongli asking after work. Cyno responded with something about a plagiarism investigation, and then they were out of earshot.
Time passed as they watched tv shows and played video games. Tighnari appears with plates of snacks—Candied Ajilenakh Nut, Panipuri, Baklava, and some mushroom platter Collei called Forest Watchers’ Choice.
Although the others dug in happily, Xiao was glad he didn’t need to eat. The food looked about as unappetizing as it could be.
“Are you not hungry, Xiao? You haven’t touched any food,” Amber asked a few hours later. She leaned around Lumine to get a better look at him, a concerned expression on her features.
Xiao blinked, flushing a little with embarrassment as he looked away. He wasn’t friends with Amber despite how much Collei adored her, and he didn’t want to get into his health issues.
“He’s okay, Amber,” Collei said with a smile as Lumine made a frustrated sound at the video game Aether was obviously winning. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat when he feels like it.”
Amber opened her mouth to say something before she shut it and nodded instead.
Xiao let some of the tension drain from his shoulders at not having to explain and shot Collei a strained smile behind their friends’ backs. She nodded in understanding, a silent moment of camaraderie passing between them.
Eventually, after Aether had thoroughly beaten everybody who tried their hand against him in video games, Collei dragged them outside to see more of the park. They made it to the front door before Cyno reminded Collei to take her cane, which she reluctantly did, but soon they were out in the open air.
Tighnari pulled out his bow for Amber not long after, and Collei had her own with a drastically lower draw strength.
That was how Xiao found out that Amber was an excellent shot. The twins tried to hit the targets set up in the yard but missed every time. Both Amber and Collei did remarkably better, hitting the centre of the bullseye.
Fatigue weighed heavily on him, and Collei gave him a not-so-subtle suggestion to sit down. He did, joining the adults in the living room as they shared a bottle of wine between them.
Xiao curled against Zhongli’s side, who wrapped an arm around his shoulders without breaking from the conversation. It was comfortable to exist without expectation.
Soon, he drifted off to the sound of the adults’ quiet conversation and his friend’s laughter in the wind.
He woke up some indeterminate time later; his mind still half asleep. It was difficult to register what was happening around him, but he felt the warmth of Zhongli’s lap beneath his head and the calming feeling of his dad’s fingers combing through his hair.
“How did you end up with him?” Tighnari asked, and Xiao heard Zhongli hum.
“I moved into the apartment below Xiao and his mother when I was a grad student,” Zhongli explained. “He was only five, and it took weeks before I even laid eyes on him. All I knew was that the woman in the apartment above me would shout at all hours of the day. But when I met him- “ Zhongli’s voice hitched. It was odd to hear. “He was so small, even for a five-year-old. I had thought he was younger at first, but he showed obvious symptoms of malnutrition. I offered him a bag of chips I’d picked up from a vending machine, and he looked at me like nobody had ever offered him kindness before. Children- children aren’t supposed to look like that. Even when they’re scared of adults, they’re usually inherently trusting. For him to be so wary...”
Xiao still remembered that day. He had been hiding from his mother, scared after she threatened him over something he couldn’t even remember anymore. At the time, he had thought Zhongli was just another adult who wanted to hurt him.
The fingers combing through his hair trembled.
“I asked around, and one of my neighbours explained that they had called child services several times. Each time they removed him from the house, the court granted her custody back in the name of reunification. I don’t know why or what the details of the home were. They told me she worked with the social workers every time to get him back, but the changes never stuck. After the third time, people stopped calling, thinking that at least a semblance of stability was better than constantly shifting him around.”
“Child services are overtaxed and under-funded,” Cyno said with something like understanding. “Social workers do their best, but sometimes it’s out of their hands, and kids slip through the cracks. The same thing happened to Collei.”
Zhongli sighed, a long-suffering sound.
“Exactly,” he replied. “I understood my neighbours’ reasoning for not stepping in again, but I hated it. I thought, ‘if child services can’t help him, then I will.’ So I started keeping extra food on me, and when it got cold, I ensured he knew my apartment was always open for him. About nine months later, things blew up. She got violent and broke his arm. I remember Xiao sobbing as I held him, waiting for an ambulance, and later, I sat next to him in the hospital after they admitted him. I was the only person he knew. He was hurt and traumatized, and I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, of him being shuffled around after everything that happened.”
There was more to the story than that, but Xiao understood, skipping over the worst parts—how Zhongli had heard his pained sobbing that night, had pounded on the door until his mother answered and pushed past her to get to him. How Xiao refused to let go when the paramedics arrived because he was afraid and in pain, and Zhongli was the only constant in his life. The weeks and months that followed, burdened by illness and nightmares, tantrums, sleeping in the same bed because Xiao couldn’t bear to be alone-
Zhongli dropped out of university to care for him, unable to balance grad school, a high-needs child, and a job. He’d given up everything for Xiao, and sometimes the guilt still ate him alive. Fostering and adoption weren’t as pretty as people made them out to be.
He drifted in and out after that, hearing tidbits of their conversation.
“It was Cyno who met her, actually,” Tighnari said at one point. “Her guardian was being prosecuted for medical neglect after a child in his care died. I didn’t know how to react when he approached me about fostering.”
“I wasn’t about to leave her there,” Cyno replied, “and we had the space.”
Xiao heard no more, but he thought he should ask Collei about it. Maybe she’d tell him.
He woke fully to Zhongli gently shaking his arm, and Xiao cracked his eyes open to see the sky painted orange and pink. How long had he been asleep?
“Hey, Kiddo,” Zhongli said, “how are you feeling?”
It took a moment for him to process the question and another to think of the answer.
“Better, I think,” he replied, and Zhongli nodded before brushing a strand of hair out of his face.
“The others ate already,” Zhongli told him. “I didn’t think you would be upset about missing that.”
He definitely wasn’t.
Zhongli combed his fingers through Xiao’s hair.
“They’re about to have dessert; you should go sit with them,” Zhongli said. “I bet Collei would be happy to have you there.”
Xiao blinked before nodding, and Zhongli helped pull him to his feet. He accepted his backpack when Zhongli handed it to him and let Zhongli guide him to the kitchen.
The sunset streamed through the kitchen windows, painting the room with a warm glow. It matched the joyful atmosphere.
Cyno stood at the sink, washing dishes, while Tighnari dried. Lumine, Aether, Amber, and Collei sat around the table with an abandoned board game spread across it. They were laughing, but Collei seemed tired. The day must have drained her the way it did Xiao, and he would be surprised if she had gotten much more sleep last night than he did.
She brightened upon seeing him, though.
“Xiao!” she called happily. “Come sit!”
There was an empty chair next to her, and she pulled it closer. Lumine was on the other side and smiled as he sat before being drawn back into a conversation with Amber. He watched as Zhongli took the dish towel from Tighnari, and Tighnari started to put the dried dishes away.
Collei leaned closer to him. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked, keeping her voice low.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, “are you okay? You seem tired.”
She shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. “I am, but it’s worth it.”
He hummed in understanding. Everything was a choice with them—where they pushed and where they bent. She could pay for this day later, but that was okay. Costs and balances.
Cyno brought over plates and cutlery when the dinner dishes were finished. A moment later, Tighnari appeared with a cake decorated to look like a small forest with trees around the edges and bushes on top. The words Welcome Home were written across the centre in pink icing.
Collei’s eyes widened when she saw it.
“Cyno picked it up on his way home,” Tighnari said as he placed it on the table.
“Sorry it’s not pita pockets,” Cyno added, and Collei blushed.
“Thank you,” she told them, her voice fragile and full of emotion.
Xiao understood. Collei was a foster child—she wasn’t far removed from bouncing around homes. Of course, a display of care and forethought would make her emotional.
Cyno wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug before stepping away. She didn’t even flinch like Xiao had grown used to seeing in the hospital.
Being home was good for her.
Tighnari cut the cake and dished out plates. It took a moment for Cyno to return, but he appeared with a small takeout box in his hands.
He put it in front of Xiao and accepted a plate from Tighnari in the same fluid motion.
Xiao stared at the box, unsure of what had just happened. Next to him, Collei laughed.
“Open it,” she whispered, “it’s for you.”
He glanced at the others. Aether and Lumine were loudly debating which one deserved the slice with the most icing, which had also drawn in Amber. Cyno, Zhongli, and Tighnari were careful not to pay any overt attention to them, although Xiao could still see their eyes occasionally.
Collei smiled softly. “Go on,” she urged.
After a moment of hesitation, Xiao opened it.
Inside was a serving of almond tofu, the same colour as white jade. Honey drizzled over the top, painting rivers of gold along its edges. For a moment, Xiao only stared at the dish.
“Do you like it?” Collei asked nervously. “I wasn’t sure what we were having for dessert, but I know you can’t eat a lot. Tighnari called your dad and asked what you can tolerate, and he suggested almond tofu. Cyno grabbed it on his way home, probably when he got the cake.”
Xiao didn’t know what to say. It was true he couldn’t eat most things, but to have somebody go through so much extra effort for him was absurd. Maybe Venti or Zhongli, but nobody else.
He felt a swell of emotion, and Xiao swallowed it back.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and Collei beamed at him.
“You’re welcome. I hope it’s good.”
It was. The texture was the same as always, sweet enough to quench the craving for sugar without making him feel ill.
He ended up sitting on the chair with his legs crisscrossed, eating his almond tofu with a fork instead of his usual chopsticks. Zhongli leaned against the kitchen counter as he and Cyno spoke about the funeral customs of the desert folk (however, that came up in conversation). Lumine ended up with the icing purely because Aether beat her at video games, which seemed like a fair trade for the sake of the twins’ continued harmony.
It was dark out when Zhongli coaxed Xiao to the car. The stars twinkled high above them like they never did in the city, and for a moment, Xiao stopped and stared.
Collei stood at his side, one hand shoved in the pocket of the hastily thrown on hoodie (the same one Cyno was wearing earlier) she wore to fight off the evening chill.
“You’ll visit again, won’t you?” she asked, scuffing her hastily thrown on shoes against the dirt road. “I know it was probably overwhelming to have so many people around, but it can be just us next time.”
Xiao pulled his attention away from the stars and looked back at her. She was leaning heavily on a cane, the day’s fatigue finally getting to her. He wondered how many hours she would be awake with Lumine and Aether before she crashed.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
Collei gave him a confused look.
“I just mean- you have Lumine and Aether now,” Xiao told her. “I figured you wouldn’t need me anymore.”
Her expression softened into something closer to sympathy (empathy? Pity? He didn’t know.)
“Those two are great,” Collei told him. “I like them a lot. And Amber, too, of course. But they’re all so...” she hesitated, clearly trying to find the words. “High energy,” she landed on, “and as nice as they all are, they don’t get it the way you do. I mean, Amber knows that eleazar is terminal, but I don’t think she really understands. The idea that somebody can get sick and never get better seems outlandish to her, even if she’s never said as much. She tries to understand, and she’s really supportive! But it’s different.”
Xiao could understand that.
“But with you,” Collei continued, “everything is easy. I don’t have to try. And I know you won’t blame me if I don’t feel like talking, and you wouldn’t be angry if I stopped replying for six months. I don’t have to ask you to slow down for me. That means a lot.”
He didn’t really know what to say, but her words felt wrong. Xiao was asocial, grumpy and standoffish. He didn’t make friends easily and spent most of his time sick in bed. Somebody like him wasn’t supposed to have friends—even years in Zhongli’s care hadn’t swayed that belief.
“It’s okay not to believe me,” Collei said. “I’m not sure I’d believe you if our roles were reversed. I mean, I still worry that maybe you’re just humouring me and don’t actually like me, but Cyno told me you don’t seem like the type to fake friendships.”
“I like you,” Xiao said, bristling at the words. He did like Collei a lot. She was kind, despite everything, and as she said, she understood. He scowled. “And Cyno is right. I hardly have the energy to spend on my real friends, let alone ones I don’t like.”
“We’re on the same page then,” she replied, taking her hand out of her pocket and reaching for his. “And you’ll have to come back and visit.”
He looked down at their joined hands and sighed.
“Yeah, okay,” he said.
The drive home was long, and Xiao dozed in the front seat, his backpack on the floor by his feet. Zhongli quietly listened to the radio, humming tunes of old classics under his breath.
They got home just after midnight, and Xiao rubbed his eyes as he woke, squinting against the city’s street lights.
Collei was right. The stars in the city were nothing like her home, even an hour away. He couldn’t imagine what they would be like even further from light pollution.
He limped into their apartment building, his joints aching after spending so much time curled up in the car. It was worth it, though.
Zhongli unlocked the front door to their apartment and guided Xiao in with a warm arm around his shoulders.
“Let me help with your shoes,” Zhongli said.
Xiao hummed and leaned against the wall as Zhongli crouched. At least the velcro made his shoes easy to remove.
No lights were on in their apartment, but Xiao didn’t need them. He navigated through the space by touch and memory alone. He only wanted to curl up beneath his blankets and sleep for twelve hours. Maybe more.
Zhongli followed, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his face as he typed. He slipped it into his pocket.
“I just let Tighnari know we got home safe,” Zhongli said. “He thanked us for coming. It made Collei very happy.”
Xiao nodded. He would care more the next day when his brain felt like an exhausted ooze.
It was slow to change into pyjamas, but Zhongli was there to help when needed. There was no point in being embarrassed—Xiao had long passed that point in his life.
As he settled beneath the soft sheets, Zhongli hung his backpack off the footboard. Then he sat on the edge of Xiao’s bed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, brushing a strand of Xiao’s hair behind his ear.
“Tired,” Xiao replied.
“Did you have fun, at least?”
Xiao thought about it for a moment. Collei’s smile made him feel warm inside, as did the almond tofu they bought specifically for him. It was nice to be invited somewhere and to have the people there understand and be willing to accommodate him.
“I did,” he said.
Zhongli smiled. “I’m glad you met Collei,” he told Xiao. “She’s a good friend.”
How they met was shitty. Nobody wanted to be in the hospital long term, and Xiao wouldn’t wish chronic health issues on anybody, but Collei was a bright spot. He was glad she pushed to be friends even when he wasn’t interested.
“Me too,” he replied.
Zhongli squeezed his shoulder before standing.
“Sleep well, Xiao,” he said. “I’m sure Collei will message you tomorrow.”
She probably would.