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Each time Childe looked at Zhongli, it felt like bracing a cliff’s highest edge for the first time. The feeling of his stomach dropping to the depths of his bowels and the brush of a shiver gliding down his spine, soaking in the vast expanse of Earth that no matter how hard he squinted, he would never be able to capture its full view. And no matter how long he stared, he would never be able to memorize every detail; such as the tiger fish swimming alongside the river’s current, the strips and swirls of white in the sky, which hug the top of mountains and hills, and other scenery he couldn’t capture. It made him bitter, and irritated. Bitter he can’t engrain these memories to his brain before they vanish.
Zhongli’s single earring dangles from his ear against his cheek, his umber gold eyes planted on the steaming cup of tea before him, rising into the air with a faint hue. Zhongli rarely ever maintains eye contact— an odd habit Childe noticed after following him on his travels. He looks past people, as if what’s past their skull is far more interesting than their lips or the words they utter. He wouldn’t stare; his lids would flutter shut once or twice in careful consideration. Soon after, it would slowly rise from rest, and by then his gaze had locked onto something in the distance.
Childe could relate to that; staring past someone rather than at them. It makes it easier to detach yourself from their words or existence, and allows him to have more control over the situation than it seems. But that’s because Childe is a mastermind, for a lack of kinder terms, and he always has hidden intentions. Him sitting beside Zhongli right now is also part of his hidden intentions, personal and official.
Zhongli looks up from his tea, and ah, there it is, Childe thinks to himself. The ability of physically knocking any slick words from the tip of his tongue with just one blink of Zhongli’s eye, looking at Childe with a curious hint in them.
“Have you not been practicing your use of chopsticks?” Zhongli poses the question, the corners of his lips pulling into a smile. A quaint smile that could be mistaken for a figment of Childe’s imagination, but a smile regardless. Zhongli doesn’t look past Childe, not how he does to others. Childe would know, he’s observed every piece of Zhongli, from his face to his slender legs walking down the streets of Liyue.
It bothers Childe because his stare was always knowing, always thinking, and then understanding. It’s as though Zhongli has an invisible upper hand that he failed to notice because his eyes are locked onto Zhongli’s.
“Of course I’ve been practicing,” The ball of sticky rice he barely managed to take hold of a few moments ago promptly falls from his chopstick and into his dipping sauce, much to Childe’s demise. “They aren’t easy to use, you know.”
Zhongli breathes out a soft burst of laughter, amused by Childe’s struggles. “I suppose not,” He remarks, gaze moving downward to investigate Childe’s grip on the chopsticks. “You have your fingers placed rather awkwardly. Why is that?”
Childe scrunches his face. “Erm,” He tilts his head, unable to hide the visible confusion in his face but opts to let a grin curl to his lips. “You should teach me your technique, then.” A sly bait, paired with a sultry wink.
But Zhongli is rising from his seat at the head of the table, moving to stand behind Childe. His hip brushed against his shoulder, barely felt through the fabric of Childe’s clothes, but he feels it nonetheless. Zhongli’s shoulders hovered in, tall body leaning over so easily like Childe is a little boy that’s lost all his nerves at the presence of someone bigger than him.
Bitter and irritated.
“Is this your attempt at flirting with me, Mr. Zhongli?” Childe smirks haughtily, sapphire eyes darting to meet with a pair of topaz brown ones.
Zhongli’s brows raise beneath the black-hazel tufts of hair, cluelessness evident in the purse of his lips. “Flirting?” His voice heightens with an intonation. “I’m not sure what you’re implying.” Just as slowly as he said that, his fingers splayed across Childe’s, taking control of his movements, adjusting his index finger on one of the chopsticks. And Childe, like the starstruck idiot he is, just let him do so. He watched the way Zhongli hovered his arm over his food in an attempt to avoid touching it.
“See? I did say you weren't holding it correctly,” Zhongli remarks with an unmoving gaze. “Clumsy errors often lead to our faults, but that doesn’t mean we can’t fix it. Try it now.” Taking a few steps back, Childe suddenly feels himself breathe again. He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath to begin with.
First, Childe stifled a giggle. His shoulders trembled with the growing ball of something in his chest, looking down at his lap to obscure his expression.
“Is something wrong?” Zhongli questions, already at his seat but preparing to rise once more at the thought of something being of concern, which sets Childe off. The laugh flows from him as though it was a faucet guzzling a steady stream of water. He threw his head back, eyes crinkled shut as he ran a hand through his ginger hair. When he reopens them, Zhongli’s head is tilted, but he doesn’t bear his previous confused face. This only makes Childe laugh some more— breathless, pink-faced and God , he used a free hand to touch his sweaty nape, he couldn’t even answer Zhongli even if he wanted to.
Zhongli doesn’t ask again, though. That same, pleasant smile stretches across his face, undisguised with fascination and a hint of fondness. Like Childe is a fox sparrow, one of Zhongli’s favorite birds.
Childe always finds amusement even in these moments, even though he knows the end is nearing soon.
The Lantern Festival in Liyue Harbor colors the sky with golden-colored specs, similar to Zhongli’s eyes, which glow from the sight of them.
“Beautiful,” Zhongli says aloud, not to Childe, but to the lanterns floating above them. “Absolutely remarkable.”
The cotton candy that Childe had bitten into melts on his tongue, its sweetness a coating of his mouth. The treat had been an extremely rare gift from Zhongli, who did have a few coins of mora in his leather pouch.
Zhongli didn’t budge from his place, which was troublesome, because they were in the epicenter of all the food carts and children’s games. People bumped and knocked into them carelessly, and Childe was at his limit. If he had to witness Zhongli trip over his feet one more time, everyone in the upcoming vicinity will meet their end.
“Mr. Zhongli, what if I told you I can take you somewhere better ?” Childe enticed, an easy grin making its way to his face.
Zhongli finally broke his staring contest with the sky, looking at Childe with a slightly bemused expression. “Oh? Then, I’d follow you.” A rare smirk braces his features. “I do have trust in your words, after all.”
Trust. “Then,” Childe holds out a free hand, the other still holding the cone of cotton candy. “Let’s go.”
Zhongli looks at the outstretched hand, investigating it. A bite of unheard hesitance makes his eyebrows scrunch together, but that’s easily dismissed. He moves his hands planted at his sides with a chuckle of amusement, and before he has time to protest, Childe grasps onto him and then they’re holding hands, as though they’re two children wandering uncharted territory, holding on with a firm, unwavering strength, afraid to lose one another from the bustling chaos of humans.
Their hands are about the same size, Childe remarks, although his own fingers are slightly longer. They’re long enough to clasp onto Zhongli’s entire hand with ease, guiding him past the groups of people laughing amongst one another, children crouching low to the ground to look at the swimming goldfish, and the dancers high in air, stilts at their feet. Zhongli is characteristically silent, lagging behind with his slow steps while observing everything around them. Yet Childe fills the void with his own mindless chatter. He happens to talk a lot when he’s excited.
“You know Liyue like the back of your hand, right?” Childe says, sparing a glance back at Zhongli whose eyes were glued to the Mora Meat stand, freshly baked and its aroma infiltrating Childe’s plan. “What, you want some? That’s interesting.”
Zhongli breaks away to look at Childe, the glow of wanting in his eyes clearly visible. “Is there really something so strange in wanting to try festival foods?” He questions, genuine in his apprehension.
“Well, no—” Childe begins, helpless at the almost pitiful look in Zhongli’s face. “It’s just you’re pretty proper, so I didn’t expect it from you.”
Zhongli’s shoulders slacken, his worries appeared by the answer. “I see,” He looks at the stone ground. “I admit that messiness isn’t a favorite of mine,” As he spoke, his hands seemed to subconsciously adjust their grip on Childe, thumb tracing his pulsating wrist in thought.
A bubbling, almost nauseating feeling stirs Childe’s stomach. He’s embarrassed, but also pleasantly surprised at the feeling of being held. Despite only one part of them touching, It was a warmth spreading from the tips of his toes to the beating of his heart. He wonders if Zhongli can feel him underneath his grip.
“However, I believe that experiences with those close to you should be cherished.” Zhongli’s smile is warm and unassuming. A smile with no hidden intentions, something Childe couldn’t relate to on that spectrum. He relished at the sight of it.
“Cherished, huh?” Childe snickers. “Cute. Not your best attempt at flirting, since I’m buying anyways, but cute.”
Zhongli’s smile falls and that stupid, clueless face takes its place. “I never understand what you mean by flirting.” He states, the word flirting coming out like its incomprehensible as a concept. “All I’m saying is that I’m pleased with our time together, it brings me joy.” The way he says these things with so much ease is almost embarrassing. Clueless to a fault.
“Yeah, yeah...” Childe, keeping that thought to himself, pulls Zhongli towards the line leading to the stand. “Let’s get your Mora Meat.”
“Are you not going to have one?”
“What, you wanna share?”
“Food is best enjoyed with the company of others.”
Childe could buy two meals for each of them, he easily has the mora for it— but he decides not to. Despite himself, he would never deny sharing a meal with Zhongli. He would never deny spending time with him at all, actually.
The high-pitched laughter of children and beating of drums become mute as Childe leads Zhongli farther away from the festivities. Their steps are quiet as they walk across the pathway, which were slowly overtaken by grass and twigs, and Childe is beginning to regret wearing his casual clothing Zhongli had recommended for the event. His shoes catch on a bump in the narrowing road, swearing to himself as he lurches forward with a clumsy stumble.
Yet the fall never came, the strength of Zhongli’s grasp pulling him upright. “It’s best we stay careful,” He reminds, concerned in his tone.
“Thank you for the help, although it was your idea to wear “normal” clothes.” Childe deadpans as they near the edge of a hill, a safe distance away from the festival.
With a frown, Zhongli follows suit. “Do you feel uncomfortable?” He asks, and his thumb is tracing Childe’s inner wrist again, shadowing slow, repetitive circles against it. “My apologies, I believed you would be at your best outside of your uniform. The fox mask was an added touch.”
Childe, using his free hand, readjusts the mask at the side of his head with a lighthearted grin. “Added touch, huh?” He murmurs quietly. “Look, we’re here.” A barren spot where no one could hear or see them. Zhongli, easily fascinated, allows their hand holding to come to its end, opting to find a seat on the grass, sitting upright with his hands on his lap pressed together.
Childe snickers at the sight. “You don’t feel uncomfortable?”
“No, I don’t.” Zhongli answers rather easily. “Quite the opposite. Will you sit with me?”
Childe joins him, preferring to plop his rear end with a thump onto the grass. “Alright, look up.”
Zhongli does as asked, and immediately his face is washed blank with clear surprise, wide eyed in wonder.
Chuckling, Childe leans back on his hand to grasp the full scale of yet another rare Zhongli expression. “I assume you like it, then.”
He doesn’t dare tear his gaze away from the sight of warm lights and stars dotting the night sky, pearl and gold scattered across black marble, and they were graced with the presence of a full moon, luminescent in its beauty. The moment was photographed still, no comments being exchanged between the two until Zhongli breathes out a laugh to himself. His words come out soft, trailing slowly to utter a hushed, “Beautiful.”
And Childe agrees. The honey auric specs in Zhongli’s amazed eyes, pink lips parted with astonishment, and the dab of savory sauce from the Mora Meat at its corner— They’re beautiful. His hands lift from its position on the dirt, tingling with numbness from sitting in the same position for too long.
He allows himself this one impulse, this one urge; to cup his palm against the back of Zhongli’s neck, and relishes the sensation of goosebumps rising from his touch. Pretty, so pretty. He’s vulnerable and distracted, right beneath his grasp.
But Zhongli doesn’t speak, and neither does Childe.
They sit in the presence of the moon above them and one another, eyes unmoving from her white glow.
Childe spotted Zhongli at an outdoor food stand during the early hours of afternoon. He was pointing at the packaged rolls of Jade Parcels, looking up at the seller to process what they were saying.
This is where I step in, Childe thinks to himself as he appears beside Zhongli. “How much is it?” He asks, and Zhongli’s eyes wander upward, unsurprised by Childe’s appearance.
“Forty mora,” Zhongli replies, and Childe sweat drops. This humble, knowledgeable man can be played like a fiddle by a five year old if Childe wasn’t around. “It was a deal for getting two sets.”
“That’s definitely overcharging him,” Childe glances at the man who sucked his teeth, his plans falling flat. “Let’s bring that down to twenty, alright? It’s on me.”
And now, the two of them walk beside each other down the streets of Liyue Harbor in a comfortable silence, this time their hands not interlocked with one another. Childe hummed to himself, but Zhongli was definitely pondering something.
Zhongli is staring past Childe today, thoughts leaving him afloat as though he was above the clouds. Childe doesn’t plan on asking why, even if his own curiosity had him on the edge of his seat. If he were to implore on where his head was at, Zhongli simply wouldn’t reply. Just hum and look forward once again.
“Childe,” Zhongli begins. “Why do you touch my neck so often?”
Childe almost drops the package of food in his hand, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself. The action catches Zhongli off guard, and he freezes in his steps to stand beside him with concern. As it turns out, Childe’s habit of touching Zhongli’s neck had become so persistent that it was time to question the behavior.
“What do you mean?” Play oblivious, that’s Childe’s plan. He won’t admit to developing the fond habit, and he definitely isn’t ready to accept he does it so often that Zhongli the airhead has noticed it. If that plan fails, he’ll somehow find a way to turn it around and make it more embarrassing for Zhongli instead.
“I notice that you’ve started to touch me at the base of my neck,” Zhongli explains as they resume to walk in step with one another once more. “I had been curious to see what it meant.”
Childe smirks. “What do you want it to mean?”
Zhongli purses his lips, head looking down in thought. “I’m unsure what you mean, once again.”
“What if it’s just my way of showing affection, huh?” Childe snickers, but it comes to a choking halt at the rose pink dusting Zhongli’s cheeks.
Once again, Childe curses the God that he can’t ingrain this into his head. The slow, languid movements of Zhongli coming to a stop, using a hand to cup the nape of his neck in careful consideration. His lips purse again, and he seems conflicted at Childe’s teasing, metaphorical question. He looks back up, the blush gone yet instead replaced with his pleasant smile. “I would gratefully accept that affection, if it is.”
Childe, despite himself, relishes in that smile. “That’s pretty affectionate of you yourself, Mr. Zhongli.”
“That traveler I met briefly said I was very knowledgeable, as they put it.” Zhongli looks forward at the passing of people and the sight of children crouching down to play with the stray dogs. “But I disagree. I believe that each day is a learning experience that I shall not take for granted.”
Childe hums at that. “Really? You know Teyvat inside and out, in my opinion.”
“I’m not the bourgeois parasite you intend for me to be,” Zhongli mutters, faint embarrassment behind his huff. “I’ve experienced different things from our friendship. I’d like to even say I trust you.”
The trust in the middle of this conversation makes Childe’s stomach lurch, but he swallows it down with a bellowing laugh, looping an arm around Zhongli’s shoulder. “Hah!” He beams, “I’m flattered at the notion! I’ll make sure not to break your trust, then!”
“Is that so?” Zhongli’s words weigh heavy, a massive boulder on his shoulders that threaten to make him snap from beneath its strength. The smile on his face doesn’t budge.
“What do I gotta do to make sure you won’t lose faith in me?” Childe pegs the question with an inquiring lilt in his voice. “The offer to rob Northland Bank is, in fact, still on the table.”
“This world is unpredictable,” Zhongli ignores Childe’s joke. “Humans are very unpredictable. To have blind, unwavering faith in someone...It definitely wouldn’t be one of my smartest decisions.”
“Yet you do anyways, huh?”
Zhongli doesn’t reply, his umber eyes once again staring past whatever is in front of him. Pretty eyes, Childe thinks to himself.
Zhongli has made many different expressions in the time shared between them, and Childe felt almost privileged to experience all of them. His subtle embarrassment, his endearment, his fascination and even his irritation— the way his eyebrows raise or his lips clasp, or the way his eyes glimmered the night of the Lantern Festival. They’re all beautiful expressions. So pretty, so very pretty . Childe had always caught himself thinking.
Even now, as Zhongli writhes in pain, his fingers clenching at his disorganized clothes, Childe still believes Zhongli is very beautiful. His hair had come undone during their battle, strands of honey and auburn cascading in a mess of knots across the ground.
The gnosis was barely the size of Childe’s palm, holding it between his thumb and forefinger in slight awe. A tiny thing that all archons possess holds such importance, yet in a swoop movement Childe punctured Zhongli’s gut, tearing it from its place at his core.
Childe glanced down at Zhongli hacking and coughing up air so violently it shook his entire body. A steady flow of crimson trickles from his open wounds against the concrete ground and his white dress shirt, tattered and torn, far too many to guarantee his safety.
“So, this is a gnosis, huh?” Childe remarks aloud, ignoring the shaking body beneath his feet. “All our months together for this tiny thing? Funny how things work.”
No response, just the sound of dry heaving filled their silence, not Childe’s usual chatter.
“You knew this would happen with your trust,” Childe continues, rather matter of fact. “You knew who I was, and what I knew.” So why? He wanted to ask. To have blind, unwavering trust in someone, to experience new, unfound emotions with them and be willing to stay by their side, despite their ill intentions, and despite their poison infiltrating your veins.
Zhongli hacks a shuddering cough in response. Childe looks at him one more time. For months, he’s wondered how much of Zhongli he would come to remember, how much of their memories would he manage to retain. It made him bitter, the thought of not being able to recollect the fondness of each intimate, quiet meal between them.
But in that moment, as Zhongi looks up at him with a pleading, outstretched hand that tremors from the pain and strain wearing his body, the stirred emotions beneath the deep swirls of rich, brown eyes (no longer umber; just a beautiful brown)— these were the eyes that won’t vanish from his memory, even if he begged for it to do so.
The same hand that would trace circles into Childe’s wrist with its thumb is before him now, desperate for something of which Childe cannot provide.
Zhongli hadn’t gotten the chance to reply to the question.