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It's not particularly surprising, realizing that he's in love with Zhongli. Maybe it should have come as more of a shock, but it's slow, like waking up in the morning, staring up at the ceiling, and hazily thinking, oh, I'm in love with him , as the other busies himself on the other side of the room, setting a table for breakfast and brewing cups of tea.
There's no happy ending to this, he knows. Perhaps Childe has a chance, but by the end of it all, Tartaglia will have to trudge back to the cold, cold stone of Snezhnaya, with the heart of a god in his hands, and his own left in pieces in the mountains of Liyue.
So when he wakes up, numb and cold, to Zhongli's eyes (brown now, dull, human, no longer the shining amber they once were) filled with worry and panic, he knows he's dreaming. Because in what world would Zhongli ever care for him, truly care for him, let alone love him back, other than the worlds spun by his own delirium?
He's hazily aware of arms tightening around his torso as his eyes drift shut again. It's a nice dream, he thinks. Maybe he can stay here for a little bit longer, before it inevitably shifts into a nightmare, or he wakes up to a world where he is so, so, lonely, with no Zhongli to laugh with and eat with and talk with. Only a Zhongli who can't care less for him and a goddess who sees nothing but a pawn in him. It's selfish, he knows, considering what he did, and what he wants, but he can't bring himself to care.
Childe turns his head slightly to bury his face into Zhongli's side, even as everything starts to fade around him. A hand runs through his hair, fingers combing through the knots, and a deep, warm voice faintly calls his name in the distance. He allows himself to relax, enjoy the warmth while he has it, because that's all he will ever get now, and struggles to not lose himself in the darkness that is creeping on the edges of his consciousness.
The hand in his hair stills as Childe loses his hold on whatever this dream may be. Faintly, lips ghost over his forehead. Just another wishful figment of his imagination, he thinks, as the blackness starts to take over. His head aches, and his body is sore, and he is exhausted. It's not bad, this ending, he thinks. Even if it isn't real, at least- at least when he goes, he can pretend that Zhongli loves him.
---
It wasn't supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to be here. He should've stayed far, far away, where a human like him, where a mortal like him, would have been safe.
But you're not a god anymore either, a soft voice chides, even as Zhongli desperately tries to pull his body forward, towards where Childe lays. You're just as human as he is. Isn't that what you wanted?
Yes, and yes, and no, all at the same time. He's tired, he wishes to rest, but he never wished for those around him to fall, not like this. Had he still been a god, had he still been an archon, he could heal the man who lays in his arms in an instant.
But now he's just as human as the next person. He can't do that anymore, and all he can do is desperately try to stop the blood, and hope and wish that luck will be on his side and bring someone, something, help.
He can live with Childe's anger, with Childe's hating him for lying, but he doesn't think he can live to lose the only one who'd come to stand by his side a second time.
---
He doesn't cry, even as the body goes still and cold in his arms. He doesn't cry, even when the traveler finds him, hours later (far too long), kneeling in the pouring rain. He doesn't cry, even as he shakes Childe, whispering his name, knowing full well the latter will never answer again. He can't cry.
He can't cry. But oh how he wishes he could.
---
The funeral is a stilted affair. For the first time in centuries, Zhongli makes the trek to Snezhnaya. The land hasn't changed much since the last time he was there; it is still just cold stone and bitter ice, all covered with a thick layer of unforgiving snow.
The Harbingers, a large mass of the Fatui, even the Tsaritsa herself, are present. But even with the mass in numbers, the honor that seems to desperately latch on to the occasion feels faked, stiff.
The Traveler stands beside him, bundled up in layers of wool and fabric. For once, even their flying companion is quiet.
"Morepesok." They say, their voice barely a whisper. "I promised Teucer that I'd go with his brother to his home some time. Never got to do that, in the end." The chuckle bitterly.
Zhongli merely nods stiffly in response as he hovers at the edge of the funeral mass.
"Besides," The traveler speaks up again. "I think that he'd want you to be there. At the private funeral, with his family."
How would you know that. Zhongli wants to say, I tricked him and lied to him and used him. I doubt there was anything left for me but contempt and hatred. But the former archon keeps the words to himself, for the traveler often knows much more than they let on. (They had seen through his plans, yet had done nothing. They had noted Ningguang's spies, yet made no move to shake them off. A strange one, that traveler was.)
So instead, he just nods, and follows the outlander footsteps.
---
Morespesok is small, much smaller than Zhongli had imagined, but it's fitting, he thinks, that this was where Childe had come from. Despite it being the dead of winter, the village feels warm, tucked away against an icy cliff that overlooks a frozen sea.
During their trek, it had begun to snow, and small flakes come to rest in Zhongli's hair. The Traveler trudges over the icy path, and they pass through the village, no doubt garnering the stares of each villager they pass by.
The Traveler comes to a stop at a small cottage that is situated right on the edge of the beach. Behind the cottage is a large expanse of snowy pines.
The Traveler raises their hand, and taps twice on the wooden door.
---
It is Tonia who greets them. The youngest daughter; Childe had brought her up once or twice during their outings. She looks to be fifteen, at the oldest. The girl leads them into the dining room, pours each of them a mug of hot water, and takes a seat across from them.
"Sorry I couldn't do more," She laughs awkwardly. "Our parents and older siblings are all at work, and I'd never been all that good at cooking." Her hands tighten around her mug. "It was mostly-" She cuts off, clamping her lips together into a firm line.
Zhongli can see the Traveler shifting in their seat as they lift the mug to their lips. Paimon floats beside the Traveler, the small sprite fidgeting with the hem of her top. The four sit there, in silence, as the seconds tick away on the kitchen clock.
"He spoke about the two of you. A lot. In his letters." Tonia finally raises her gaze to meet Zhongli's. "When Teucer came back from Liyue, he was rambling a lot about the 'Nice Person' too. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Even if the circumstances are..." She trails off, eyes darting back down to her mug.
"I think he'd want you here." Tonia's voice cracks, and Zhongli can see her composure slowly start to crumble. "He was reckless. Stupid. Outside of our family he didn't really have any friends. Everyone was scared of him. Then they sent him to Liyue and when he wrote back he sounded so happy. He actually made friends."
Tears are streaming down her face now, even as Tonia's expression remains set. She reaches up to rub away the tears with her sleeve, then lets out a shaking breath.
"He's the best big brother. Ever. All of the others are either too busy, or simply just didn't care. And he's the one who'd cook for us, put us to bed, read to us and make us toys and play with us. He had so much love to give. So little people to give it back."
He doesn't know why, but all of a sudden, Zhongli shoots to his feet, the wooden chair legs scraping on the tile floor.
"I'm sorry," he sobs out, throat dry and cracking. "I couldn't save him. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I-"
A pair of arms reach up and wrap around his neck.
"It's okay," Tonia tightens her grip, pulling Zhongli closer. She buries her face into his shoulder. "Just cry. Big Brother used to say that when something was hurting you, it's better to just let it out."
"I-" I don't know how to cry, he wants to say, but then small hands reach up and pull at the collar of his vest, and everything breaks. The tears come, flowing, unbidden, sudden.
He falls to his knees, sobbing, lost, and so, so, so lonely.
Why, he wants to yell, why did you leave me behind? First Guizhong. Now Tartaglia. Childe. Ajax. Why? Why is it always me who's being left behind? I'm lonely. I'm tired. I'm tired of being alone. I don't want to be alone.
So he breaks, he shatters, and he sobs, pouring out apologies and unspoken words that should have been said, words meant for another's ears, but never to be heard.
Would you turn back time, if you could. Someone had once asked him. At the time, he'd said no. But that was before Guizhong left. After that, he'd wavered. And now? Now, he's just unsure. Because if he is mortal, then who will be there to suffer the long consequences?
And that empty space where Childe once was, that empty space where he smiled and laughed and poked fun at Zhongli, that empty space where he'd risk anything and everything to protect those he'd cared about.
Selfish. Inhuman. Monster. He fits all of those descriptions he thinks. But as he kneels on the kitchen floor, Tonia crying into his shoulder, and Zhongli sobbing into hers, he can't help but feel mortal, feel human. So he lets the sky fall.
That empty space never to be filled again.
---
They set up an altar for him in the back of the main room. Tonia scatters small white flowers all along the wooden surface in front of Ajax's photo as the Traveler pulls out a bouquet of calla lilies and windwheel asters. Zhongli stands there, numb, staring at the smiling Ajax in the photo.
The emptiness is still there, but it feels like a slight weight has been lifted from his shoulders, not much different from that day during the Rite of Parting.
He reaches forward, and a single glaze lily blooms in his palm.
"If you don't mind." He says, setting the flower beside Ajax's photo. "Tell Guizhong I said hello, won't you? I'm sure you will like her."