The breeze brings with it the smell of salt. Waves crashing against the sandy shore, the foam fizzing on the seaside. Bubbling atop the sand before it gets sucked into the earth. Across from him, the jagged gray peaks of Guyun Stone Forest. Harshly structured mountains that were said to be formed by stone lances flung by Rex Lapis when he defeated the sea monster Osial centuries ago. Blue eyes, filling with so much unbridled emotion that it rivals the all-consuming depths of the ocean. Black clouds gather overhead, but he doesn't have to look up to know that rain is coming.
The weather grows dark in preparation for the storm, thick fog beginning to form at his feet, slipping past the boulders around him like snakes through the sand. It is cold, damp and poisonous. Twisting around his ankles, and rising towards his neck, before sinking into the flesh of his throat. Injecting a malicious toxin into his bloodstream, a venom that shrieks in his veins, wailing for death.
He tears his boots from the wet sad sucking at the soles of his shoes, ducking down just fast enough to dodge the tip of Zhongli's polearm.
"You're slow." Childe sneers, eyes flickering with amusement as he mocks the man opposite of him. "Or maybe you're just getting old." Tone frigid, colder than the icy winds that batter his body. "Don't tell me that losing your gnosis has reduced you to this." He taunts, lips curling up into a smirk as he crosses his blades in front of him to block the downward blow of his opponent's spear. He wants to make Zhongli mad. Wants to feel the archon lash out and fight him with unrestrained force. But still, the man standing before him remains controlled.
Zhongli is beautiful, Childe thinks.
Each swipe of the polearm is elegant and refined, as if he decides every action beforehand in his head before breathing it to life with his regulated strokes. Even more alluring when he fights than when he's daintily sipping his tea, or cupping his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he begins to inform his companions of the wares of Liyue that he is so knowledgeable of.
Amber eyes peer back at him, expressionless. Calm, even as Childe uses his full strength to press forwards.
"You're still angry." Zhongli replies softly. Voice gentle and steady, as if he isn't fighting Tartaglia, 11th of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers.
And Zhongli is right.
Childe rams his weapons against the shaft of the former archon's spear indignantly. Anger flooding through his veins, a fire that consumes him as blood roars in his ears. Teeth grit when he sees Zhongli, not even breaking a sweat, easily holding his ground against the Fatui. Feet planting heavily into the ground, hands trembling from pressure as he continues to drive his blades ruthlessly against the former archon. Exerting even more force now than he did before.
"You lied to me!" Childe shouts, each word leaving his mouth raising in volume until he is screaming.
"No," Zhongli replies, pushing forwards, with enough strength to send Childe stumbling a couple steps back. "I never lied to you, Ajax." He soothes.
But no, the nickname that was meant to pacify him only infuriates Childe even further. "Don't call me that." He seethes, words stammering between his heavy breaths as rage consumes him. A rancor that contaminates his blood. Then he feels something wet on his face, dripping down his cheek, and he tastes salt in his mouth as the rainwater slips past his parted lips.
And he regains his footing as the clouds burst open. Rain pours down in unrelenting sheets. Cruel and thoughtless, like Zhongli when he'd betrayed Childe. Electricity crackles across his skin, hissing in tandem with the strokes of lightning painting the sky. He feels a flurry of emotions flood through him as the frigid rainwater soaks through his clothing.
Anger, hotter than the summer sun.
Embarrassment, burning greater than it had when Zhongli had caught Childe struggling with chopsticks. He still remembers the flush that had spread across his face when the other man had leaned over to help. Remembers the feel of Zhongli's hair tickling his cheek as the other man wrapped his hands around his own to show him how to properly hold them.
Regret floods through him next, and his heart clenches at the thought of how he'd been made to look like a fool. Then, misery. Sorrow that somebody he cares about has tricked him. When those emotions finally subside, he experiences the worst feeling of all... Love.
Childe knows it's love, because he loves harder than anybody. He loves his mother, his father, and his siblings. He carelessly slaughters people in the hundreds for them, stacking bodies across grassy fields, snow strewn plateaus, and weed ridden deserts. And he has skeletons in his closet, scratching and scraping against the door. Besides clothing that he no longer uses, stained red with the blood of the dead. But he doesn't blame them, because he chooses to serve the Tsaritsa in return for riches for his family, and comforts that thousands of Snezhnayan people could only afford to dream of.
He doesn't remember the last time someone angered him to this point. Simply because he doesn't make it his business to remember the dead. That was Zhongli's job.
Lips quirk upwards, and low laughter leaves his mouth at that thought.
If not love, what could it be? He thinks.
Because Childe shows his love the only way he knows how to. By showering the target of his affections with glittering gold coins, radiating like jewels. Unbeknownst by the spender the red that earns it.
Blood money.
He feels used, and instead of voicing his hurt, he threatens.
"I'm gonna kill you." He growls.
But he wonders if he can. Would he be able to slit Zhongli's throat? To stare into those beautiful amber orbs, glowing like the finest cor lapis, as he takes his life?
Then he remembers. Remembers that the consultant isn't human, and that the reason Childe was angry was because of the incident with his gnosis. And he feels the title that Zhongli earned - God of War - with every counterattack the man launches in Childe's direction.
Childe doesn't hesitate when he slashes forward with intent to kill. No longer did he care that the very mountain he stands beneath was formed by Zhongli himself. What angers him now is how easily Zhongli is able to duck and dodge all his blows. But it also excites him that the archon is able to keep up with him, but it is nothing to how infuriated he felt.
Childe feels like Zhongli is toying with him… like he had when he'd made his contract with the Tsaritsa.
His clothing shifts across his flesh as the night air takes on a deep purple glow, and Childe clenches his blades tightly by his side as his foul legacy armor, black and red and tinged violet creep across his chest. It was then that Childe sees something akin to fear flicker across the other man's face.
"Are you scared?" Tartaglia jeers, his voice reverberating out of his chest in a mighty rumble that shakes the earth beneath his feet. A wild look appears in his eyes as power rushes through him. Nimble fingers pressing the hilts of his daggers together, hands sliding up the length of his new weapon. Electricity hisses, crackling off his violet double sided spear as he twirls it deftly in his hands.
Yes, it is fear that crosses Zhongli's face. Not fear for his own life, but for the harbinger's. The archon has heard of stories of the toll that delusions had on the bodies of mortals that dare to use that power… and it was less than a week ago that Childe had spent his energy on his Foul Legacy transformation to fight the traveler inside the Golden House.
Sweat beads across his brows, mixing with the wet rain that trails down his face. Without his gnosis, he is weaker. A fight like this should have been easy for him, but he is still adjusting to his newfound mortality. Amber eyes narrow in concentration as he blocks the flurry of slashes that Tartaglia throws at him, blows not meant to injure, but to kill. "Stop this nonsense!" Zhongli protests, but if the fatui can hear him, he doesn't show it.
Instead, the purple lance is thrust towards his chest, and Zhongli brings up his polearm to redirect the blow. "Childe!" He calls out the other's name in an attempt to bring the man in question to his senses. "You-" His next exclamation is cut short as his attacker swipes to the left.
A sharp breath leaves his mouth as his polearm is ripped out of his hands. It spins through the air, tumbling through the falling rain before landing tip first into the soggy earth dozens of feet away- and way out of reach. Frustration nips at him, and his chest heaves as he leaps backwards to open up the space between him and the Fatui.
"Childe…" He trails off, the earth shaking beneath his feet when he shouts.
"I will have order!" He yells over the rushing wind, louder than the roaring waves that crash against the shore. Tips of his hair glow uncannily as his eyes light up like fireflies in the night. Arms cross against his chest defiantly, and no more than a second later, the dark clouds overhead spits out a meteor.
Water, dirt and sand fly into the air as it crashes into Tartaglia with a resounding boom. When the dust clears, Zhongli rushes forwards, chest tightening as he kicks through the rubble to find Childe. He was absolutely sure that there was no other way he could have stopped his orange haired counterpart's endless barrage of attacks. And that the meteor was enough for the other man to handle, especially while using his delusion.
But still… concern clouds his features as he rushes towards the center of the debris, and there, laying amongst it all, is Childe. Battered and bruised.
Broken.
Zhongli doesn't want to believe that it's his fault. But he knows that even if it isn't all because of him, that he is part of it. Nails dig into his palms, as he kneels by the other man's side.
Because Childe may be a raging death machine, trained to kill. A savage, reckless monster…
Except Childe isn't.
A trained killer, yes. Savage and reckless sometimes. But not a monster.
Lips press together in a thin line as the delusion's hold on Tartaglia loses its grip. The archon presses his fingers against Childe's neck to check for a pulse once he shifts forms, no longer covered in flesh eating armor. The relief that floods through him gives him instant gratification, and he scoops the human up in his arms.
Zhongli likes to think of Childe as a well... a child. Cheerful, kind and generous. But also temperamental, angry and prone to rage when he feels tricked and betrayed. Like all children though, the archon is sure that the harbinger would get over his little blunder once enough time passes.
But time flows differently for them. Zhongli has seen cities rise and fall, flesh rot as bones crumble to dust. A decade for the archon is but a blink of the eye for him, but Childe… In ten years, will he find forgiveness? In twenty years, will he still come out the other side alive, as he rushes out into the battlefields to raise his body count? In forty years, when he's wrinkling and frail, bones creaking as time eats at his form, will he still smile and grin when he laughs and tells jokes?
An exasperated sigh leaves his parted lips as he carries Childe home. It isn't the first time they'd fought since the incident around his gnosis, but it was the first time that Childe decided to use his delusion. The past couple of brawls they had, Zhongli had managed to talk the other man down before things got too rough, but this time he wasn't so fortunate. Childe doesn't stir as the rain pours down, and Zhongli is careful when he moves up the stairs of Wangshu Inn.
He is reminded of the frailty he held. Like a priceless vase, held between two slabs of stone. And he's scared to lose him.
He doesn't let Childe go until they are both tucked away from the storm, in a cozy room inside the inn. Warmth floods through his body, and Zhongli realizes that he has never felt the cold like this before. Damp robes cling to his skin, and he lays Childe out onto the couch. Zhongli carefully undresses the Fatui diplomat, taking care to get the wet clothes off the younger man before he catches a cold.
He remembers that Childe is from Snezhnaya, and that frigid storms and harsh blizzards are something that the other man is used to. But still, he wants to make sure that his companion is warm first.
Childe is only human, after all.
And when he removes the dirty, sopping clothing from Childe, he sees pain. Scars of all shapes and sizes decorate the harbinger's light skin, like writing in a book. Writing that tells stories of suffering, loss, and death.
Zhongli wonders if he has gone too far tonight. Pondering the odds he would have had in talking down Tartaglia in his foul legacy form. He doesn't remove his gloves as he traces the patterns across Childe's chest, long sweeping blows that cover nearly every inch of his skin. Like a tragic piece of art, that expresses the countless amount of times that the Harbinger has cheated death.
He doesn't know if he can control himself if their skin touches. So when he snaps out of his revelations, he keeps on his damp gloves, tearing his gaze away as he steps into the bathroom to retrieve a towel.
It is now that he can see his sins first hand. Breaths hitch in his throat at the bruises across the other man's body, and he feels something akin to regret when he begins to dry off Childe's bare torso.
He feels bad.
"I'm sorry." Zhongli whispers, but he doesn't know why. Or maybe he does.
Movements slow, maybe a bit too slow as he wipes the last of the rainwater off his companion. He hovers over Childe, amber eyed gaze resting on the Fatui's body.
Childe is handsome in the most rugged way. Muscular, covered in scars.
He stifles the lust that courses through him as he continues the task at hand, but even with centuries of experience, it is hard. His self control remains strong, but even he can't help the lingering touches on Childe's waist as he unbuckles the belt of the harbinger's pants. Light touches, fluttering obscenely between the other man's pale thighs as he removes the last of Childe's clothing.
He folds the Harbinger's clothing into a neat pile, noting to himself to wash and dry them before the other man awakens. Then, Zhongli scoops up the unconscious man in his arms, and carries him to the bedroom. He tries not to look down at the sculpted chest, and the chiseled abs, but he does so anyway, glances lingering inappropriately as he lays Childe down in bed.
Then he shuts off the light, and with one last forlorn look, he leaves the bedroom.
When Childe stirs, he realizes that he is naked and sore. Very sore. Eyes flutter open, and he jolts upright at the sight of the unfamiliar ceiling above him. It takes a moment for him to survey the bedroom, blue orbs filling with concern and confusion. He doesn't know where he is. Eyes blink blearily, and he reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Did he have too much to drink last night?
Sunlight filters in through the window on the wall, and he throws off the blanket to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He couldn't remember the last time Snezhnaya was this warm, but it is summertime after all. Except… he isn't in Snezhnaya. He can remember, albeit vaguely, that he had been sent to Liyue to obtain the gnosis from the geo archon. What he can't seem to recall is what day it was, and what he was doing yesterday.
Blue eyes fall on his body, completely bare except for his underwear. Several large bruises decorate his arms and legs, and tiny cuts litter his torso. Fresh and new, in contrast to the older scars littering his form.
It looks like today was going to be full of surprises.
He wonders fleetingly what sort of animal he'd slept with in order to get all these injuries. Hands reached up to rub the kink out of his neck, and he gently massages the flesh in an attempt to ease up the pain. It isn't until he hears footsteps that he lifts his gaze up and away from a particularly bad bruise on his thigh.
Blue eyes shift over towards the doorway, only to widen to saucers at the sight before him. A tall, slender man, dressed in intricately designed robes. Childe rakes his gaze over the stranger's long legs, slowly across the man's tiny waist until they rest on his beautiful face. Brown hair, tucked into a neat ponytail, with stray strands framing his soft features. Full lips, and feline like eyes, warmer than the autumn leaves, and more beautiful than gold. Red eyeliner swept beneath his bright eyes, winged liner bringing out the striking amber orbs. In the light of the morning sun, Childe decides.
He is breathtaking.
And Childe no longer minds the pounding in his skull, or the soreness that makes it difficult for him to move. It seems that these minor inconveniences were the furthest thing from his mind when his lips curl upwards into a wide grin that shows his pearly white teeth.
"Last night was crazy, wasn't it?" Childe drawls, eyebrows quirking up as he speaks.
Oh how he wishes he could remember what had transpired. He lets his imagination run wild, thoughts swirling around his mind at the idea of this beautiful stranger between his legs. The harbinger could feel a warmth spread through his lower body at that idea, and he leans forwards with a perverse grin.
"Indeed." The stranger replies as he approaches. A gloved hand presses against Childe's chest, and he arches a brow as he is gently pushed back down onto the soft bed. "You should get some more rest, Childe."
He stares up at the stranger, watching as the glare of the sun silhouettes the man's face. Even when shadowed, those gold orbs glitters beautifully. A ombre of orange, brown and yellow.
A frown appears on his face as the stranger straightens up, and he props himself up on an elbow to peer into the other man's entrancing eyes. "I'm ready for round two." He breathes, hands reaching up to tangle into the front of the stranger's clothes. Childe roughly yanks the other man towards him, eyes flickering with lust. What he doesn't expect is for the handsome fellow to gently pry Childe's hand out of his clothing. He's even more surprised to hear the words that roll off the other man's tongue, deep and mellow.
"I don't wish to fight you again." The stranger responds patiently, voice like honey as he opens up the space between them. "It'll be the fourth time this week."
"What?" Childe asks, brows scrunching together in confusion. Though he is always itching for a fight with a worthy opponent, the man before him looks more like a god meant to be gazed at from afar, then an enemy for him to duel with.
Childe decides that there is no way in hell that he would ever choose to fight the stranger than to bed him.
"We fought?" He questions, pointing at himself. "You and me?" Childe asks before motioning between himself and the stranger. "Actually fought? Not just…" The harbinger makes a crude gesture then.
"I can assure you that…" The beautiful man trails off, as if he is struggling to figure out the right way to phrase his next words. "We did not fight in the way you think." He finishes.
And Childe realizes that he doesn't remember a lot. He remembers Snezhanaya, and the Tsaritsa. His family, and the other harbingers. He remembers his mission, and that he's in Liyue to carry it out.
But he feels like he is missing important pieces. Because he feels empty, and something is bothering him, eating away at the back of his mind. And he doesn't remember who this stranger is, and why he wants to fight him. So Childe opens his mouth.
"Who are you?" Childe asks suddenly, breaking the silence.
And his eyes catch the faltering breath that leaves the stranger's chest. In a way that screams I'm hiding something from you and Childe isn't a genius, but he can read between the lines.
"Zhongli." He answers, concern creasing his brows together as his glimmering eyes examine Childe's bare form.
Childe feels a shiver go through his body, and he blames it on the wind that slips in through the crack of the window. He pulls on the blanket, yanking it up so that it rests around his chest. A quivering breath leaves his lips as he turns his head to the side so he can peer up at Zhongli with searching eyes. He remembers then, as hazy memories of their first meeting surface from the back of his pounding skull.
"The consultant from the funeral parlor?" Childe asks for confirmation, eyes lighting up in relief when Zhongli confirms with a nod of the head.
Childe scoots over a little to make room for Zhongli, and the other man hesitantly takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He feels his heart race, but he doesn't know why.
"What are we?" He asks, unsure.
The silence is heavy, and Childe wonders if said something wrong. Zhongli must be a friend, for him to have brought him back to his home. Blue eyes flicker to the table, where bandages wait to be applied. Could they be lovers? He wonders fleetingly, before remembering Zhongli's words.
If they fought, he had to be an enemy.
But if Zhongli was an enemy, why did he feel so calm and relaxed? Why were his muscles not tensed in preparation to fight?
Childe waits, but there is no answer as Zhongli unwraps gauze and turns to focus on bandaging the long gash on his side. Not particularly deep, but long.
Acquaintances. Because they'd met in passing.
Friends. Because that's what they became, under the guise of Rex Lapis's death, when he'd helped to prepare for his own funeral.
Enemies. Because Childe hasn't been the same since he'd found out about the gnosis, and their meetings have always started with intent of bloodshed.
A million words dance on the tip of his tongue, but he says nothing. He remains silent, like a statue.
They could be lovers. But Zhongli doesn't know what love is, hasn't had the time to know as he wanders the streets of Liyue, ruling the city he's seen grow beneath his feet.
He's read books on love. He remembers its definition. Love is a human emotion, a feeling you experience when your heart swells when you see someone. And Zhongli hates to admit it, but his heart swells at the sight of Childe, even when the harbinger approaches him with intent to harm.
It is when you miss someone when they're gone, and Zhongli admits to himself that Childe is on his mind when he wakes up, before he sleeps, and even when he is with him.
It is the worry you feel when someone is not around. And Zhongli would be lying to himself if he says he isn't afraid for Childe when he shows up for dinner late, painted in blood.
It is the warmth that fills in his heart when Childe smiles at him. It is the look they share when Zhongli rambles about how Cor Lapis is harvested, or how Glaze Lilies bloom, or how Osmanthus Wine is fermented.
Zhongli knows he is in love.
He doesn't try to stop himself when he brushes a hand against the scars on Childe's chest. Fingers trailing gently until they rest on the cut by his hips.
This is wrong.
Everything about the situation is wrong.
And he knows he is being selfish when he asks.
"Do you remember anything else?"
And he falters when he speaks, because if Childe doesn't remember him being the Geo Archon, then maybe…
Maybe what? Maybe he could lie to the other man again? Lead him through the pretty streets of Liyue, and repeat all the things that they'd already done? He shakes his head, heart clenching in his chest. Stomach twisting and turning, and a knot resting at the base of his throat as he begins to tend to Childe's wounds. Hands quivering as his trembling fingers bandage the injury.
"No." Childe answers. "Is there something else?"
And Zhongli wants to leave it.
But he doesn't want to lie. Not again, even if the offer tempts him from the darkest depths of his mind. Because this moment they're sharing, it is innocent and kind. Like so many others they had before Childe realized he'd been tricked.
"Yes." He says as he tears his gaze away. Gentle hands place the gauze on the bedside table, and he doesn't look towards Childe when he adds.
"Some people call me Rex Lapis." He whispers. "Others will say Morax." Zhongli timidly says, voice trembling in a way that it hasn't before. "I'm sorry." He adds, desperately clinging on to this last moment of innocence before it is lost. Frustration and helplessness throbs in his aching chest, as he braces himself for Childe's explosive reaction.
But it doesn't come.
Rex Lapis. Morax.
Those names trigger something deep inside him, breaking the dam that held those secrets behind.
And Childe remembers.
Flashes of his time spent with Zhongli. He remembers one night in particular, when the god was haloed by the lights of the lanterns flickering in the night streets of Liyue, only hours after Zhongli had picked out a beautiful pair of dragon and phoenix chopsticks, insisting that Childe learn how to use them.
He remembers how easily he was fooled, how distracted he was by the former archon's beauty and grace. And he wraps his hands around Zhongli's neck, so delicate and smooth.
"I forgive you." He whispers, but he can't help but wonder how easily he can snap it.
Fingers tighten against the back of Zhongli's neck, pressing against the flesh hard enough to make the other man stiffen. A shuddering breath leaves his mouth, then he does the opposite of what he planned.
Childe yanks Zhongli in for a kiss, much to both their surprise.
Their lips crash together. Hot and cold, like ice and fire. With passion, lust, and hate. To anyone that was looking, they might have thought it strange. An rugged Fatui diplomat laying in bed with the beautiful Zhongli, caught by surprise, but still sprawling across the harbinger in the most graceful manner.
Their limbs tangle together, and everything is jumbled up and bewildering, but Childe knows one thing. He might not be the one to take the god's gnosis, but he would take something far more valuable instead.