Day 1: 'Haunt'

Morax.

The words curl about on the breeze, buoyant, light-hearted, and teasing. They trace his cheek in a tendril-like touch, soft and fleeting.

Guizhong is long-dead, only a memory of his bygone past, but Zhongli still finds himself leaning into her touch, teetering about as he tries to chase just one moment of that warmth.

He misses her. Oh,he misses her, and her silly idioms, and the way that she'd smirk at him. Guizhong was devilish, with a keen intellect, and though Zhongli didn't quite understand her whims at the time, in his old age he's learned a thing or two.

Morax, would you look at this?Guizhong and her inventions, of course. Her head was chock full of hundreds of them.

Zhongli still has her hand-penned journals, filled with half-finished drawings and messy notations. When he is nostalgic, he flips through them, smoothing the pads of his fingers over the yellowing pages of the tomes.

She would like how Liyue has flourished. She'd be so proud of the advancements they've made, and how their precious little mortals have come into their own. Guizhong would tease him for retiring, but then brew him tea and plan a vast party because that's the sort of woman she was.

Every adeptus takes to death differently. And whether or not this is truly her ghost, he cannot deny the energy that is ever-present. It pulls at him, tugs and pushes at times, wraps around like an old, encouraging friend.

Zhongli is nearly the last one left. Xiao will never not bend the knee to him, and Ganyu will never not see him as Rex Lapis. And so, Guizhong's persistent presence is a warm comfort that Zhongli readily falls into. He wasn't prepared for the loneliness that comes with his age, but perhaps that is the Erosion talking.

You think that you can't make friends. You're wrong, you know.

"Hey, Zhongli."

Zhongli's head tips up and meets Childe's smile. Gone are the silly and teasing titles of politeness. Zhongli's heart churns at the familiarity and the way that Childe looks so fond.

Guizhong likes Childe and the only reason that Zhongli knows that is he's felt this ghost of her pushing them together since before he figured out what love is.

"Childe." He dips his head gently, which makes Childe scoff.

"So refined," drawls Childe. He nudges Zhongli's ribs with an elbow. "Such manners," he mocks, good-naturedly. "No need for that when we're alone in our teapot."

Our teapot. Zhongli swallows, his throat bobbing.

Guizhong said similar words once, and though they were nice, they didn't mean much then. Zhongli would sit with her, late into the night, sipping Osmanthus wine and swapping stories of yore. It was nice and enjoyable. When he was still Morax, he thought that it might've been what happiness was.

As Zhongli, though, he knows what happiness truly is.

"Hey." Soft fingertips against his wrist. A small little furrow of concern between Childe's eyes.

"It is nothing," says Zhongli, and he means it. "I'm merely feeling reminiscent."

"Oh?" Childe's gaze turns, his mouth twitching into a seductive curl.

Zhongli levels him with a placid look. "Childe," he warns.

"Geez, I'm just joking. I know that this is an HR-approved date."

"Ekaterina did mention that she was inputting some of your paid hours if only to get you out of the office." Because Childe is a serial over-worker, even now. Zhongli pauses then, thumbing his bottom lip. "What about some Osmanthus wine instead?"

Childe raises a brow. "On work's dime? Scandalous."

"Call it nostalgia." Zhongli stands and crosses the room to a bookshelf.

Oh, Zhongli, no one holds on to the past quite like you.

It isn't a bad thing, he thinks as he opens a cabinet and pulls out an ancient bottle.

"Zhongli, that looks old enough to predate you."

"Nonsense," says Zhongli, finding two glasses. He drops them onto the table and laughs. "Unlike Barbatos, I have a palate. He could drink vinegar and still speak its praises—"

"Okay, okay, just pour it out already."

A man ruled by his memories. Guizhong's presence seems to hang about in the room, thick by his side. And then, what feels like a little push, just a finger of energy that presses against Zhongli's shoulder. But that is a good thing.

Zhongli's mouth quirks into a soft smile. "On second thought," he murmurs, crossing back to the bookshelf. He drags his fingers over book spines even though he knows exactly where it is. He tugs an old, leather-bound monstrosity from the shelf.

"That's… something," says Childe when Zhongli sits beside him again, grimacing when he sees that cracked binding.

"I've mentioned Guizhong before."

Childe goes quiet at that. Still and contemplative. He folds his hands in his lap and says, "Yeah."

"This is one of her journals." Zhongli is fond as he smooths a hand over the cover. "There are many but this is my favorite, and you'll see why." A pause. "Of course, only if you're interested."

"I…" Childe's gaze is pinched, but not with discomfort. "Are you okay with it?"

Zhongli blinks, having never once considered that Childe might be worried about him. He sighs softly. "I know that I don't often speak of those older eons, but I wish to share the one other person that I cared deeply for with you."

Morax, says Guizhong, this time her voice flirting in his ear. A shiver runs down his spine. Indulge, for me.

Zhongli opens up the journal to somewhere in the middle, creasing the pages. "I've often wondered if Morax truly is so dense, but one could kiss him, and he would think it a mere greeting," he reads.

Childe snorts, and then he bursts into laughter. He leans close, pressing his calloused fingers against the worn pages. "Oh, Gods, tell me there's more."

There is, and Zhongli reads happily, and with a smile. The ghost of her settles around them like warm comfort. He wonders if Childe can feel it.