Xio's body was a study in profound, childish peace, a stark contrast to the churning landscape of his mind. He rested, soft and still, nestled on his bed, the weight of Lanhua's sleep-heavy arm draped across him a familiar, comforting anchor. The entire house seemed to breathe with a deep, collective sigh of relaxation.
Yet, Xio possessed a strange, potent characteristic: the ability to daydream anytime, anywhere. His imagination, while vividly strong, had become a source of profound disappointment. It brought everything to the surface—the shards of his trauma, the familiar yet unknown voices echoing with unnerving clarity, clear visions that he simply could not escape.
It was only because of Lànhuā that his subconscious didn't spiral into its usual dark depths. Instead, his mind was adrift with thoughts of another—of Kirihito. A being who had the strange, unsettling power to make him simultaneously hiss with sharp pain and suppress a hidden chuckle behind his hand.
Right now, his worry was fixated on the stubborn yokai. He couldn't fully descend into sleep, haunted by the thought that Kirihito might disregard his command and wander out of the safe house. The yokai was infamous for his sheer stubbornness. If displeased, he bit. If he wanted to play and Xio needed to leave, he bit. If he craved dragon fruit and they were all gone, he still bit. He was a snake who would strike with or without malice, a fact Xio found strangely entertaining, even if the residual venom always left its sting.
He hadn't encountered such a playfully dangerous yokai since Yuzai, and perhaps in Kirihito, Xio saw a ghost of his lost friend—a different name, a different body, yet a similar wild spirit. Kirihito, however, was darker, a trait mirrored in his long, silky black hair. Xio felt like he was secretly keeping a dangerous pet—a beautiful, deadly creature. Kirihito was nothing less than a captivating beast, too dangerous and too cute to be true all at once. Xio harbored a fear of his uncle's discerning, toxic gaze falling upon him, knowing the destructive shadow it would cast.
For a long moment, time seemed to slow, and Xio's consciousness retreated into a memory of the brief time he'd spent with Kirihito before returning to his sect.
Flashback:
The crows, a sudden, noisy flock of them, were relentlessly cuddling Kirihito, almost aggressively trying to claim him. Kirihito giggled, the tickle of their fluffy feathers a pleasant distraction. Xio watched his smile—wide, snakelike, a little weird, but possessing a striking, feral beauty, much like a wild animal. He wondered, briefly, what Kirihito would look like without the dark silk hiding those peculiar eyes, but he dared not risk alarming him again.
A particularly stubborn crow was relentlessly clinging to Xio's waist belt gem, treating it like a lifeline. Kirihito's grip was firm; that gem was not ordinary, holding the diminished remains of his music. The guqin had been shattered by Kirihito himself, leaving only the flute. The Lanxie clan, masters of all instruments, were a contrast to the Yin Lans—changeable as lizards. The Miè Rán sect, however, were heavy yet invisible, like a sudden, chilling gust of wind." Ah, get off " xio hissed and finally managed to push it away .
Kirihito, who loved the birds, was playing well with them. They preened his long hair, tangling themselves in the strands. Some were bold enough to snatch slices of dragon fruit directly from his mouth as he chewed, overly eager to impress him.
"H-hey! That was mine! I don't like those!" Kirihito protested to the brazen crow, crossing his arms and sitting straight. His hourglass hips were subtly sculpted by the drape of his loose robe. Xio, tired but watchful, arched an eyebrow at the unusual interaction.
"Give me back my fruit! Put it down, that was the last piece!" Kirihito scolded childishly, gently shaking the crow, but the bird refused to let go, looking possessive and jealous. Xio couldn't help a small, soundless chuckle at their strange, bickering display. In the middle of this petty fight, he failed to realize how genuinely dangerous Kirihito could be, even when not actively trying.
Before Xio could laugh again at the bizarre scene, he felt a sudden, profound stillness. All the crows, and even Kirihito, stopped their chatter and giggling. Xio glanced around. The crows were terrified, their stillness unnerving and almost dramatic. They quickly backed away, seeking shelter behind Xio.
In that moment, Kirihito's small, white pet snake seemed silently satisfied. It hissed softly, sliding up Kirihito's body to rest around his neck once more, utterly unconcerned by the sudden tension. Proper punishment in proper time... having too good a time, didn't you? Good times end fast, too, a silent thought seemed to pass from the snake.
"What's wrong?" Xio asked softly, a question mark hanging in his tired, beaten expression. He blinked, noticing the crow yokai in Kirihito's hand was motionless.
"Insect Xio... that crow doesn't move right after stealing my dragon fruit," Kirihito mumbled, his pale, wine-red lips slightly parted with genuine confusion. He shook the crow again, receiving no response, then placed his ear to its black-feathered chest.
The other crows trembled, fear now overriding whatever motive had brought them and their flock.
"Its heart isn't pounding loudly... not singing for me..." Kirihito stated, his voice soft and devastatingly innocent, as if he were simply discarding old clothes for new ones.
The yokai had died in Kirihito's hands.
Xio swallowed hard, his eyes wide. Kirihito had just killed a 3rd-class special grade yokai as if it were a common insect, with a mere squeeze. Xio's mind flashed back to the moment Kirihito had squeezed his hips with his thighs. Unconsciously, Xio touched his own hips, feeling a faint, ghostly echo of the burning pain in his flesh and bones. He wondered if the two forces were different—this pressure had seemed firm, yet not hard enough to kill a special grade. Was the yokai weak, or was Kirihito overwhelmingly strong?
One thing, however, became terrifyingly clear: "I was lucky again for not being the one dying like that," Xio whispered to himself, his gaze locked on the motionless bird in Kirihito's hand. The tiny body, so fragile and ordinary, had been undone with such ease, a quiet cruelty that gnawed at his thoughts. The squeeze he had just witnessed—so simple, almost casual—carried a weight, a hidden force far deadlier than anything he had endured.
A shiver ran down Xio's spine, and for a moment, time seemed to hold its breath. He realized the depth of the danger he had so lightly invited into his life, the peril that lingered behind Kirihito's playful grin and serpentine innocence. It was no longer just admiration or fear—it was awe tinged with something darker, a realization that his calm, ordinary world had shifted, and there was no turning back.
He exhaled softly, almost inaudibly, as his mind raced through possibilities he did not want to face. Every instinct told him to retreat, yet a strange part of him remained frozen in fascination. Kirihito—beautiful, deadly, unpredictable—was a force that could not be tamed, and Xio understood, painfully and vividly, that from this moment onward, his life would never be the same.