"My ma told me once that the stars are the silvery veil that adorns the sky." Childe's voice is soft and light like the summer breeze that chills their faces.
They lay on their backs in a sea of green, shoulders and hips touching, fingers brushing tenderly. Above them is a dark backdrop, dotted with stars that glitter, each one begging to tell its own story.
The grass is soft and a little itchy, but it reminds Childe of his childhood days spent outside with his siblings. "I was a kid, so I didn't know what she meant. Still don't, I guess. I'm not one for fancy words but you know that."
Zhongli chuckles beside him, gaze trained on the sky above. The moment is kind. Childe soaks up the warmth from where Zhongli's shoulder is pressed into his. "You seem to enjoy my fancy words." Zhongli's voice is thick with teasing, dripping with affection as he stifles a laugh.
"Do all old men speak like you? Or is it only old lizards?"
Zhongli snorts. "I will not be slandered for speaking properly." A pause. "Besides, you enjoy it. How many times have you fallen asleep to my words?"
Too many, but it's less about the pretty words and all about Zhongli's voice. How he speaks to Childe tenderly, petting his hair, lulling him into sleep. Childe is unused to being cloaked in such comfort, but he loves it, he loves—
Childe sighs softly, watching as the sky blinks back at him. Zhongli is blessedly quiet and they lay there with ease. These are the moments they seem to enjoy the most, just being near each other, drenched in tranquility as they laze about.
Liyue is miles away and Snezhnaya is worlds apart. Here, Childe doesn't think about being a Harbinger, he's just Ajax instead.
"Here in Liyue, there is a similar saying: The sky is a mysterious scroll written on blue velvet. We cannot read them but we cherish them. They are a puzzle to us and yet we yearn."
There are so many things that lay between them unspoken but feelings are clear in the bright moon that hangs high in the sky.
Childe reaches out, curling his fingers around Zhongli's hand. His palm is warm, the pads of his fingers smooth underneath his own callouses.
It is Zhongli, though, who turns to look at him, tugging his hand up to press kisses against his knuckles, eyes twinkling with mirth just like those damned stars in the sky.