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There are times where he’s tired of being Childe.
Tired of donning the name of Tartaglia, the vanguard of the Eleven Harbingers. Slaughterer of many, the man that never backs down when thrown into the fiercest of battles, even when the cards are not dealt in his favor. A master of weaponry, and a master of upholding this facade of confidence, one that is not shaken by any circumstances. A man capable of decimating armies, looked up toㅡfeared by his underlings, instilling terror in the hearts of many by a simple mention of his name.
Sometimes, he just wants to be Ajax. A boy from Snezhnaya who loves his family dearly, a boy whose childhood innocence was consumed by the darkness of The Abyss, a boy who fights to protect the few people who actually matters to him, worming their way into what he thought was his cold, dead heart.
Sometimes, even the strongest of individuals would need the comfort of another.
So it shouldn't come off as a surprise when one day, after a particularly grueling evening, Ajax sways on his feet and leans heavily against Zhongli's back, his arms wrapping tightly around the ex-Archon's waist. Holding on to his sturdy frame, burying his nose into the crook of Zhongli's neck and letting himself revel in the musky, earthy fragrance, a scent that never fails to soothe his nerves and calm the rapid beating of his heart.
The tensing of his shoulders suggests that Zhongli was caught surprised with the sudden display of affection, shifting in Ajax's embrace to turn around and face him. He doesn't say anything, even as Ajax feels bright amber eyes staring down at him. He keeps his head ducked down, a habit ingrained in him to not show any sign of weaknesses, even more than what he's already revealed.
Silence blankets over the pair as seconds tick by, before Zhongli breaks it with a chuckle and a hand running through the soft strands of Ajax’s hair. “Well, this is rare,” he says, with a hint of amusement in his voice. “It’s unusual for you to be this affectionate with me.”
Childe would have teased him back and shoved him lightly by the shoulder, but Ajax stays quiet. He squeezes Zhongli tighter. Zhongli’s laughter dies in his throat when the older man realizes the state that Ajax is in, the tired slope of his shoulders and the lack of strength in his limbs.
“Childe?” Zhongli calls out, the softness of his baritone washing over the ache in Ajax’s muscles, almost like a soothing lullaby that creeps through the cracks in his walls and beckons for him to surrender. For once, to let himself be cared for. “Is something the matter?”
“Ajax,” he whispers in return, hoarse, muffled by the sleeve of Zhongli’s undershirt. “Call me Ajax, xiansheng. Just for tonight.”
‘Or whenever you want,’ he adds internally, but lacks the courage to verbalize it. Refusing to expose more of the Ajax hidden beneath layers upon layers of lies and fake smiles.
Though he can’t see Zhongli’s face, Ajax can hazard a guess at the consultant’s expression. The fluttering of eyelashes, the soft exhale from his parted lips, and the reassuring smile that no doubt would look ethereal on Zhongli. The hand that stills on his head resumes its journey, gloved fingers twining in Ajax’s bright, orange locks, massaging his scalp, instilling tranquility with the simplest of gestures.
“Ajax it is. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to indulge you once in a while.” Zhongli plants a kiss on the crown of his head, shifting to nudge Ajax’s head more comfortably into the crook of his neck. His arm is wrapped securely around Ajax’s lax body, and he can feel the curve of Zhongli’s smile against his skin. “We should change into something more comfortable, and I’ll do my best to make you feel better. What do you think?”
Ajax nods mutely, eyes slipping shut, and for once, the fog in his mind begins to clear and Ajax can truly feel at peace.
Zhongli has long shed his identity as Rex Lapis, hung up his coat (literally and figuratively) and entrusted it to the people of Liyue.
But there are times where the past still clings to him in a vice grip, drags him down and reminds him that history doesn’t forget as easily as he thought it did. Shedding a burden he’s carried for six millenia doesn’t come without consequences, and though Ajax would never understand how it feels to be an Archon and suddenly decide to call it quits, it doesn’t mean he’s not aware of how much it affects Zhongli on a bad day.
In more than one occasion, he’s been abruptly pulled from slumber as Zhongli tosses and turns from fitful nightmares, has held the other in his arms and rubbed his back until the frazzled look in his eyes disappear, the same way Zhongli would calm him down when he wakes up screaming and scrambling for something to hold onto.
On some days, though, the horrors would plague Zhongli even in his waking hours to the point of physical exhaustion.
Like right now.
Ajax is in the middle of cooking dinner when a pair of arms loop around his neck and pull him against Zhongli’s chest, his grip on the ladle slipping as the Snezhnayan almost tripped over his own two feet.
“Whatㅡ” Before Ajax can recover from losing his balance, Zhongli tugs him back once more and this time, the ladle does fall into the pot, causing the calla lily soup he’s been cooking to spill onto the counter from the impact. Strands of dark copper tickle Ajax’s cheek as Zhongli noses at his collarbone, rubbing his face against the pale expanse of his skin. “Careful, xiansheng! I’m still making dinner, that could’ve been dangerousㅡ”
The rest of Ajax’s sentence falls short at the tip of his tongue when the Harbinger takes in his lover’s disheveled appearance. Zhongli’s long hair spills over his shoulders messily, the black shirt he dons is buttoned wrongly, and if he can see Zhongli’s face, he’s positive he would spot dark circles lining the bottom of his eyes. The image tugs at his heart, his gaze softening. Ajax turns down the heat of the stove and he turns his head enough to nuzzle the top of Zhongli’s head, resting his hand on top of Zhongli’s over his abdomen, golden rings bumping against each other with the movement.
“You know what, nevermind,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together. Zhongli squeezes his hand once. “What happened to your nap? The nightmares again?” He can’t make out what the other mutters into his neck, but it’s probably something along the lines of a yes.
“How can I help?”
“Having your company would suffice,” comes the subdued answer, plaintive and lacking the regality he usually presents himself with. In this home they call theirs, Zhongli doesn’t have to pretend. They don’t have to pretend. Here, Zhongli is just the funeral parlor consultant that Ajax learned to love during his stay in Liyue.
A man leading a mortal life. As simple as that.
Ajax’s lips curve into a smile, small but sincere, one that comes effortlessly in Zhongli’s presence. Laughter bubbles in his chest as the younger man’s fingers rests below Zhongli’s chin, and coaxes him to tip his head up. Warm, caramel orbs decorated with golden flecks meet his own pair of deep ocean blues. The smile widens, and Zhongli, beginning to feel at ease, manages one of his own in return.
“That, I can do.”
Zhongli leans down, and Ajax meets him halfway in a soft, chaste kiss. His lips tingle when they meld with Zhongli’s, slotting together perfectly as they come back for another, and another, and another. Taking their sweet time tasting each other, moving languidly as warmth spreads from his lips down to his fingertips, as his heart soars when they finally part and Ajax can see the sparkle in Zhongli’s eyes.
He laughs, the sound light and airy. Zhongli joins him shortly, and Ajax thinks that for a brief moment, Zhongli must have felt at peace, too.