Winter is icy cold, like the depths of his karma-chained heart.

Xiao likes it, the bitter bite of the wind against his skin. The way that his cheeks pink slightly in the frigid air, and how his heart stutters as the cold encases him. It forces him to move, to think, to wriggle about, and get the blood pumping. There is so little that makes him feel alive, but the winter months force it upon him. It is nice, how his blood burns in his veins, instead of karmic debt.

He stands at the top of the Wangshu Inn, at the edge of his open-air porch. Winter is brisk against his face, the air piercing. He flexes his fingers as he watches the world below. It will be spring soon. The idea doesn't settle well in his gut. Memories of warmth and sweet-smelling flowers only sour his mood.

Xiao, is frankly, a mess. He is a mess of unwanted feelings and urges; new-found and curling things that he doesn't quite know what to do with. Spring has always been a challenge. He doesn't deserve the quiet comfort of the warming weather, not with the karma that slowly eats away at his soul, eroding what little is left.

Each year, there is less and less of him. Each year, Xiao feels those layers peel away and dissolve, leaving behind an angsty mess of swirling darkness. Protecting humans shears off the edge of it, but it's only a means to an end.

Then, he remembers something, a promise that he'd recently made. "Just call my name, and I will come," he'd said, utterly serious. Breaking a promise is like breaking a bird's wing. There is no recovery.

"A picnic," said the Traveler with a soft laugh, "On the first warm day. I will call your name, and we can share it with the others."

This year might be different. The snow melts into morning dew, and Xiao realizes that for once in his life, he isn't alone. This year has brought him new friends, whether he wants them or not. The Traveler and Paimon, the ever-stuffy Consultant Zhongli (familiar, he thinks—there is something so familiar about particularly him), that rapscallion Harbinger called Childe, the grinning Xiangling and her exuberance for food—each one of them wriggled their way right into his being.

He is softer than he's ever been before. Xiao presses a hand to his chest as he thinks. He is a solitary creature, perfectly keen on remaining in the shadows. Xiao wonders why the promise of spring seems to warm his core more, this year.

"Odd," he says to himself, the word lost on the crisp breeze.

It doesn't bother him, though—the idea of it. And that, perhaps, is the most surprising of all.

#

The weather warms, though the snow tries to cling. Xiao shakes wetness from his bangs, annoyed by the dripping of tree branches.

Verr Goldet laughs at him as she stands on the deck below. Xiao huffs, disappearing in a whirl of Anemo, then reappears beside her.

"It's nice," she says with a polite grin, "Winter will be gone soon."

Xiao grunts. "Spring is annoying."

She looks amused. "You would think that, wouldn't you? What, does the sun cause you to wither up and waste away?"

Most wouldn't dare tease him, but most aren't like this woman. Verr is a wily innkeeper with more secrets than not. Even Xiao has come to have more than just grudging respect for her.

"It isn't—I just prefer the cold."

Verr hums at that. "I like to think that you sleep on blocks of ice. Are you sure that you aren't a creature of Cryo?" She laughs before he can answer.

"Get on with it," says Xiao, but it lacks his usual bite. He tells himself it's because he's tired and annoyed, not because he actually enjoys their chatter. "I'm already bored of your prattle.

"Oh, I'm sure," she says, entirely unperturbed. Then, she raises a hand, showing off a plate. "Almond tofu, as always."

"Which you didn't leave by the door." As she usually does.

"I thought we might share it together." She pauses, letting her suggestion sink in. And then continues with, "As friends."

"Friends." Xiao says the word like he's testing it, like it's something that he's never quite considered.

"I would like to think that we are," says Verr, quietly. But there isn't judgment to her voice, only unwavering patience. She is letting him make the decision.

Xiao finds that the idea isn't unappealing. They share conversation more and more, as of late, and Xiao has even tried other dishes cooked within their kitchen. "I…"

"No pressure, of course. It was only a suggestion." Verr moves to set the plate upon the wooden deck, and Xiao stops her.

"Wait," he says. He hesitates. "I—it isn't an entirely terrible idea."

Verr looks surprised, like she hadn't expected him to agree. But then she grins wide and sets the plate upon the table instead, motioning to the chairs. Xiao sits dutifully as he takes his chopsticks into hand.

"So, tell me, what is the day of our esteemed Conqueror of Demons like nowadays?" Verr's voice is quiet, but genuinely curious.

Xiao finds it easy to answer.

#

Time crawls, and as expected, Xiao goes to sleep on the last night of winter, and wakes in the morning to the new dawn of spring.

The sun crests the horizon, casting everything in an orange hue. Dew clings to leaves and flowers, and the chill of the morning is just that—a chill. Gone are the biting, brisk days that make his old bones ache, and his joints creak.

Instead, Xiao feels warmth flooding his body. Usually, it is unwelcome. Usually, it makes him feel like his skin is crawling, like his blood is churning, like he doesn't deserve something as kind as this.

But this time, he relishes it as he wonders. Xiao ponders this fluttering in his heart, feeling that cold iciness that encases him melt right away.

"A picnic—" The Traveler's voice, soft and kind with genuine affection. The gentle smile of Zhongli, and Xiangling's drive to love people through her food. Even the damned Harbinger, with his wily smile and hard-hitting punches as they spar, has wormed his way deep, somehow.

He thinks of his lunch that day, with Verr. And every single one they've shared in the weeks after.

"I suppose that you can, indeed, teach an old dog new tricks," she once said, kindly. Before, it would have angered him. Now, he laughs with mirth, a soft and fleeting sound.

This year, spring promises him something new.

This year, Xiao feels alive.