Chapter Text
“How did you find me?” Zhongli asks dryly as he rubs at his temples, the beginning of a headache starting to build up already.
Barbatos twirls around the table once with a wide grin, before sitting down across from him. (Zhongli isn’t sure “sitting” is the correct term, what with how his legs and feet seem to rest mostly on the table.) The bard shrugs merrily. “Probably our Archon connection.”
Zhongli raises an eyebrow from his book and looks at Venti suspiciously.
“Call it what you will Morax, but we’re linked, you and I. You know, as oldest of friends (Zhongli snorts at the word choice), gods fighting the toughest of war, last remaining archons, etcetera etcetera. It’s only logical there would be a bond between us.”
His book now resting on his lap, Zhongli proceeds to stare flatly at the bard sitting across from him, completely unimpressed.
It lasts until Venti finally straightens himself back on his chair and comes clean. “Ok fine, I went to the Funeral parlor and Hu Tao told me where to find you.”
Zhongli hums, and reminds himself to forbid Master Hu Tao from giving away his location to nosy bards in the future.
“I have to say, I would have never thought of looking for you in a bar. However—“ Venti pulls out a bottle and brandishes it in Zhongli’s face. “I’m not one to complain! I brought something to drink. Only the best Dandelion wine from Mondstadt for two Archons, catching up on their archonian lives.” Venti materializes two glasses on the table and proceeds to open the bottle. “I’ll have to remember to thank Diluc for the wine.” He pours his glass first, filled way more than it should be. He narrows his eyes. “Then again, that would imply actually telling him I took it from his cellar…”
While Venti seems to be weighing the pros and cons of such dilemma, Zhongli quickly raises a hand and covers the other glass the bard was about to fill.
“I’m not going to indulge your day-drinking, Barbatos.”
Venti’s face falls into a conspicuous pout, and wide puppy eyes are now pleading at Zhongli. “Please, Morax!” The bard starts to beg. “We never hang out. I really want to catch up with you!”
Those puppy-eyes don’t work on Zhongli though. He’s had millennia of training, and by now he knows that Barbatos is all but innocent.
“Why the sudden need to “catch up”, as you say?” Zhongli’s eyes narrow on the boyish-looking god in front of him, sensing foul play (it certainly wouldn’t be the first time).
“Is it a crime to want to spend time with my friend?” Again, Zhongli rolls his eyes and snorts. Venti all but ignores him as he continues his tirade. “With recent events and what not—“ He gives Zhongli a knowing look. “—things have hardly been “the same as usual” (Venti finger quotes here). Even you, Morax, can’t pretend otherwise.”
On that point, the bard is right. Zhongli knows it perfectly well. And yet, he has absolutely no desire to dive into a conversation about Archon business with Barbatos. He can’t seem to let go of his stubbornness when it comes to the god of Mondstadt.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Zhongli replies in his usual composed voice. He pointedly reopens the volume on his lap before diving back into it.
The first audible sigh from the Anemo Archon makes Zhongli’s lips curl up slightly, and he can’t help the deep satisfaction he feels at the sound. Could Barbatos lose patience and just leave him alone? One can only hope.
But rather than leaving and ending Zhongli’s suffering, Venti decides instead to make himself comfortable again. He rests his feet back up on the table, this time crossing one leg over the other before grabbing his glass of wine, in an attitude screaming “two can play at this game, Morax”.
Who is he kidding? There is absolutely zero chance Zhongli could ever beat Barbatos in a game of patience.
“Let’s play a game!”
“No.”
“It goes like this…” Venti ignores him and takes a sip (a Barbatos sip, obviously, so half the glass). “We take turns in making claims about the other—”
“I’m not playing any game with you.”
“—and if the claim is true, the other person has to drink.”
“And I am certainly not playing any drinking game with you.”
“Is it a drinking game if it’s wine though?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Venti shrugs, giving Zhongli his best “is it, though?” face, while Zhongli repeats that yes, it in fact, is.
His patience is starting to run thin though, and he has the uncomfortable feeling that Venti knows that. The little pest is surely just getting started. If Zhongli got up and left right now, he is pretty sure that the other Archon would just follow and bug the hell out of him like an annoying fly until he caved in. Why not save himself the trouble?
(And staying has obviously nothing to do with the fact that Childe suggested they meet at this bar later in the afternoon. Nothing. Obviously.)
Zhongli pinches his nose and sighs heavily, already hating himself for giving in so easily. “If I humor you, will you return to Mondstadt and leave me alone?”
Venti makes a show of resting his hand solemnly over his heart. “On my honor as Barbatos, God of Wind and defender of the City of Freedom. If I lie, may Celestia forsake me and throw me into the Abyss.”
The sleeping dragon inside Zhongli stirs pleasantly at the thought of the drunken bard being thrown, flowery hat first, into the Abyss. Maybe this situation is a win-win for him after all?
Zhongli sighs again but proceeds to pour himself a small glass of the so-called “heavenly Dandelion wine” he’s heard so much about. He sets his book on the table, before pushing it far, far away from Venti, lest it be ruined by the wine in his alarmingly full glass.
“Very well. One game.”
Zhongli wasn’t born yesterday, though. With Barbatos being… well, Barbatos, protection is necessary. He isn’t the God of Contracts for nothing. “What are your terms?”
Venti grins.
“As long as there is no false claims, the person can keep making statements. The other has to drink every time the statement is true, until a false one is made. No obvious truth statement. No lying. The game ends once we run out of wine. Bottles bought from the bar are not allowed.”
Zhongli grunts to himself that the constant emptiness of his wallet would not permit him to purchase anything from the bar even if he wanted to. Venti reaches an enthusiastic hand over the table, looking earnest enough (weirdly), and Zhongli glances at the one bottle on the table. Reasonable enough, his logical mind informs him with an approving nod.
“I can surely get behind these terms,” Zhongli finally concedes, his tone as even as ever. He isn’t liking this idea one bit, but he can see no evidence of tomfoolery from the bard, and humoring him is the fastest way to get rid of him. If the game is not to his liking, at least he just has to suffer until the bottle is empty. How bad could it get?
Zhongli raises his hand in return and shakes Venti’s in agreement. A knot of foreboding starts to form in the pit of his stomach when Venti’s innocent grin turns wicked.
Wait a minute—
Venti immediately pulls bottle after bottle of the same Dandelion wine (where from??) and sets them one by one on the table, smiling from ear to ear.
Ah.
Right. Not a win-win after all.
Zhongli seems to have, as the youth would say, royally fucked up.
A total of five bottles now crowd the table and Zhongli’s blood turns cold at the sight of them. Barbatos has played him spectacularly. If stares could kill, the bard would be heading straight to the Wangsheng Funeral parlor in a plastic bag right now.
Still happily (and irritatingly) breathing, the Anemo Archon raises his hands defensively. “I didn’t buy them from the bar!”
“You didn’t buy them at all.” Really, this Diluc person should be made aware of the bard’s shenanigans. Maybe Zhongli should plan a trip to Mondstadt.
“Who starts?” Venti asks as he refills his already empty glass.
“I’ll let you choose,” Zhongli says, a little too fast.
Second mistake.
The bard’s grin widens.
“You’ll excuse me if I go first then.” He makes a pensive expression. It somehow looks fake. “You have no mora in your wallet right now.”
That’s a low blow. Zhongli doesn’t even need to check his wallet to know the bard is right. He grabs his glass and brings it to his lips.
He has to admit that the wine is good. In fact, it’s excellent. It’s a full-bodied red wine, and yet it is incredibly smooth, leaving a kind of velvety intensity on the palate. Maybe his trip to Mondstadt should be made sooner rather than later. Zhongli wonders if Childe would accept to accompany hi—
“That was an easy one.” Venti brings him out of his thoughts, and Zhongli blinks at him before bringing his glass up.
“The wine is good, at least,” he recovers himself.
“Glad to hear it is to your liking, my dear Morax!”
But at once, the expression on the Anemo Archon’s face shifts. The innocent grin is replaced with a hungry smirk, and his eyes dig holes into Zhongli’s soul.
Uh-oh.
A shiver passes through him, and Zhongli swallows hard.
“You have made friendly acquaintances among the Fatui at the Northland Bank this past year.”
A knot tightens in Zhongli’s stomach, but the Geo Archon chooses to ignore it. “This is common knowledge.” Everyone in Liyue at least would have noticed as much. He drinks again.
Something in the back of his mind tells Zhongli that Venti has no intention whatsoever to let his turn end.
Venti plows on. “More specifically, you’ve gotten close to a certain red-haired Fatui boy, commonly known here in Liyue as Childe.”
This time, Zhongli says nothing. He watches the other Archon warily, a frown starting to knit on his brow, before taking another sip of his glass and effectively emptying it.
“Well, would you look at that! And then they say I’m the drunkard?” Venti jokes, and he laughs heartily while refilling Zhongli’s glass, this time almost to the brim. The ominous air to his face comes back at once as he ponders his next move.
“You are and were aware that Childe was actually the Eleventh Harbinger, known as Tartaglia.”
Now that takes Zhongli a bit by surprise. “How—“ He starts, before it hits him. Zhongli sighs at the realization, a little irritated. “Lumine told you.” It’s not a question, he is sure she did. And that annoys him.
It’s not that he wants to hide from the world the fact that Childe and Tartaglia are one and the same. No, Zhongli just doesn’t think it’s fair to Childe that he be blamed by the general public for the recent events, when Zhongli himself had used him for his grand plan. The boy had merely been a tool in what had actually been at play.
He is not a bad person, and throughout this past year Zhongli has actually had the pleasure to witness the good-hearted nature of the Snezhnayan boy. Enough so that he now feels a duty to protect him from harm. The feeling stems, Zhongli assumes, from his guilt at having used Childe. As long as he is in Liyue, Childe will be under the protection of the Geo Archon. (Well, ex-Archon.)
A strange pang of emotion hits Zhongli at the thought of Childe not being in Liyue anymore. He decides not to dwell on it.
Zhongli remembers to drink his wine. “Nobody is to know of his connection to the Tsaritsa or the recent happenings in the city.” The dragon inside shows the barest hint of teeth. “Do you understand, Barbatos?”
It sounded way more protective than Zhongli had meant it, and it’s not lost on Venti, who shoots him a teasing look.
“I’m serious.”
“Relax, my dude!” Venti laughs. “I’m not about to go blabbing about your little friend to anyone. For starters he’s never done anything to me. And besides, maybe it doesn’t look like it but I value life more than risking it by going after someone under your godly protection.” He gives Zhongli a pointed look. Zhongli narrows his gaze at him, and he starts to worry that his eagerness to defend Childe may have given Venti the wrong idea.
“Let’s get on with the game, those bottles won’t drink themselves!” Venti laughs, before zeroing back on Zhongli and wiggling an eyebrow. “The Fatui boy conveniently happens to be your wallet.”
Well, there is nothing Zhongli can say in his defense. He drinks. “Fair.” He is starting to feel the flush of the alcohol now. A gentle warmth is slowly creeping up his neck and his cheeks must have surely turned pink by now.
“You consider him more than just a wallet.”
Zhongli’s ears flush. He hopes that Venti hasn’t noticed. (The satisfied smirk the bard gives him lets him think otherwise.)
“After all this time, I would say I consider him a friend,” Zhongli feels the need to justify himself before drinking from his glass.
He does not like where this is going. In hindsight, he really should have known. You’ve lost your touch on social interaction, Rex Lapis, Zhongli sadly admits to himself. And it was never even his strength to begin with.
“You would rather be with him right now.”
Zhongli snorts, before chugging the rest of his glass. “I would rather be anywhere.” Venti masterfully refills the glass as soon as it hits the table. (The dexterity of the bard when it comes to wine bottles is unparalleled. Truly.)
“All right, let me rephrase this—you would rather be with him right now than anywhere else.” And Venti sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with all the impudence of a God who knows he has just hit his mark.
Zhongli narrows his eyes at him, shifting uncomfortably in his chair and painfully aware of the slight rise in his heartbeat. “This is absurd.”
Barbatos has the audacity to chuckle innocently in his face. “I don’t make the rules, Morax! You agreed to the game.”
Zhongli sighs, heavy with the truth that Venti is right—he is bound by a contract. So he thinks hard on the matter.
Before Venti stumbled into the bar (read: “before Venti hunted him down and found him in a bar”), Zhongli had been reading a book, unbothered.
Well, all right, the reason he was in the bar in the first place was because Childe had asked to meet him there after some urgent business of his was over. Per his contract with Childe (had there been a contract? Hm, that is irrelevant), he is supposed to be spending time with him right now. Honoring his contracts is the most important thing to Zhongli, so in all logic, being with the red-haired foreigner from Snezhnaya is the place he most wants to be right now.
There, it is solved. (The flimsiness of his reasoning is not lost on him, but again, Zhongli stubbornly decides to ignore it.)
Once again, the wine glass reaches his lips. Yes, Childe is the person he most wants to be with at the moment, but there is a logical explanation. Obviously.
“You appreciate his company.” Zhongli almost chokes on the sip he is still trying to swallow.
“Well, I—“
“Drink.”
Why does Zhongli feel so attacked right now? It’s just a game, he tries to convince himself.
And yet. Looking at Barbatos’s smirk, Zhongli knows it.
He is in danger.
Zhongli can’t even pretend not to appreciate Childe’s company. Anyone who has seen them interact could deduce as much. He brings his glass to his lips once more, a little too fast apparently, clumsily clanking it to his teeth as he does so. Well, that’s one way to check on his state of inebriation.
A brief look at the bottles on the table shows him two empty ones, with a third currently being uncorked by the bard. Granted, Venti has been idly sipping on his own wine throughout the game, knowing full well his turn would never come, but not quite willing to let go of an opportunity to drink.
Still, Zhongli has to admit he feels rather tipsy at the moment.
How in Celestia did this happen?
Venti is apparently not satisfied with Zhongli’s suffering just yet. “You dote on him.”
Zhongli flushes red this time, looking clearly scandalized. “I do not dote on him!”
Venti tuts him before grinning wide. “No lying, Morax!” And then with a pointed look, “those are the rules. Drink.”
Zhongli is half-tempted to summon a meteor right there and then as he glares fiercely at an unperturbed Barbatos, who is still grinning widely at him. The cold stare lasts for a couple more seconds before Zhongli reluctantly brings the glass to his lips once again, bound by the contract he willingly agreed to.
He does dote on him. Of course, it’s not like Zhongli showers him with gifts, the continuing absence of mora in his wallet preventing him from doing so.
Rather, it’s in the little things—small affections he has taken a habit of carrying out. From the way he patiently helps Childe learn to use chopsticks (the poor boy was in desperate need of a teacher!), to how he sometimes resolves to feed him himself (well, he needs to eat), to all the colorful flowers and various rocks he offers him on the walks they sometimes take together in Liyue’s wilderness (along with lengthy lectures about their history and all uses of them, of course).
The realization hits Zhongli harder than he was expecting, and he finds himself in a sort of daze.
“Morax?” Venti’s voice is the only thing that brings him out of his reveries. He is frowning at him a little, and after Zhongli’s composure slowly comes back, Venti sighs and gives him a soft smile.
And this time, there is a compassionate look on his fellow Archon’s face. “You’re finally realizing you have a huge crush on him.”
Zhongli blinks confusedly, but his heart flutters, echoing Venti’s claim.
“Is that what this is?” Zhongli asks mostly to himself, all pretenses dropped.
Oh, dear Celestia.
The (ex-)Geo Archon, in love with a Harbinger? How could the situation get any worse?
“Well, now all you have to do is tell him!” Venti blurts out, all cheerful at the idea of romance and pleased with the easiness of the solution.
Zhongli just glares at him owlishly for a moment, before leaning over the table.
“Are you insane?”
But Venti does not seem to see anything wrong at all with his suggestion.
“I might have, er, accidentally developed affectionate feelings towards Childe, but in no way does it mean I should act on it. One day, sooner rather than later, he will go back to Snezhnaya, and—and—“ The words get caught in his throat.
“And you don’t want him to leave.”
Zhongli swallows thickly. Just the thought of it makes his heart tighten painfully in his chest.
“The game is still on,” Venti informs him, pointing at the bottles still full on the table.
And Zhongli drinks. Because no, he does not want Childe to leave. He wants him to stay in Liyue. He wants to see him everyday, he wants long dinners at Liuli Pavilion and evening walks on the harbor with Childe by his side.
This past year had been the most exciting in Zhongli’s life in a long while, and he doesn’t want anything to change.
But what he wants is selfish.
“I cannot ask him to stay. It wouldn’t be fair.” And Zhongli is surprised to hear the sadness and longing in his own voice.
“But what if he feels the same? What if he wants to stay?”
Morax is the God of Contracts and Commerce—he isn’t one to be swayed by false hopes.
“Why in Celestia’s name would he ever? His family is his Snezhnaya. He is a loyal Harbinger to the Tsaritsa. He doesn’t like the hot weather of Liyue. I betrayed him and used him for my own design.” Zhongli counts on his fingers as he lists all the reasons Childe has to leave Liyue, to leave him, each one a little dagger of truth to his heart.
“And yet he is still here! It’s been two months since Osial!” Venti perseveres. “Maaaybe that’s bec—“
“Why are you so invested in my relationship with Childe, Barbatos?” Zhongli cuts him, finally running out of patience. The alcohol clouds his judgment a little bit. “You have never even met him!”
“Ah, that,” Venti answers thoughtfully, calming down from his passionate display. He gives a shrug. “Well, you can blame that on Lumine. The poor girl is exhausted!”
Zhongli stares at him, completely lost. “What has Lumine got to do with this?”
“She told me, and I quote, “Venti, I can’t deal with those two idiots anymore! The mutual pining is unbearable to witness, please help me.” That’s the big lines, anyway. She actually ranted for a good hour. Told me everything, it was very entertaining. So, I got curious and wanted to see what it was all about!” Venti grins at Zhongli. “I trust her judgment, and it appears she was right.”
Zhongli, unaware of the meaning of “pining” but a bit offended at being referred to as an idiot (really, he is a god after all), pointedly does not ask Venti what it means, lest he should vindicate Lumine’s allegation.
“I do not see why she went to you about it. Clearly, it is a matter that could be resolved between us had she come to talk to me.”
The bard, his cheeks now a nice shade of pink from the alcohol, gives him a blank stare. Zhongli is not sure how to feel about being glared in such a way by the drunken God of Anemo.
Venti finally shoves a palm to his forehead. “You’re such a blockhead, Morax. Trying to open your eyes is hopeless. The game is not over yet though!” His smirk is back.
“Please, Barbatos, just drink the wine yourself.” His tone sounds exhausted.
“You’ve wanted to kiss Childe before.”
“You really are the worst.” Zhongli’s face is flushed, and he can’t tell if it’s from the wine or from the embarrassment at being called out on those unfortunate feelings of his. With the realization of his crush came the painful awareness of all the little things he had pushed down and neatly locked away in a box, out of view of anyone (mostly himself).
Barbatos had opened the box in his face and dumped the contents on his head. And now there was no locking those feelings away anymore.
So, yes, those times he had stared at Childe’s lips longer than he should have without thinking much of it, Zhongli now realizes what it had meant.
His flush deepens, if not in color, at least in heat. Taking small sips will only serve to prolong his suffering, so he raises his glass and downs it under Barbatos’s boisterous laughter. Is it too late to get his gnosis back and smite the little bastard?
Venti gets his way with him for a couple more rounds, embarrassing Zhongli further every time he forces him to face his feelings.
They’re opening the last bottle when the door of the bar flies open, and in comes a cheerful-looking Lumine, followed by a certain Harbinger whose ears must have been ringing non-stop for the past couple hours.
Zhongli’s eyes find him automatically, noticing his disheveled look and the small cut above his right eye. He got into a fight again, Zhongli chastises him internally, a worried frown on his brow.
Childe’s eyes sweep the room, eagerly looking for something. When his gaze meets Zhongli’s, his whole face lights up. The blue in his eyes even seems to brighten ever so slightly. He calls at Lumine and strides toward the Archons’ table.
“Your heart is beating faster right now,” Venti all but whispers to Zhongli, startling him out of his daze.
Zhongli abruptly takes his eyes off of Childe, blushes violently and proceeds to shoot daggers at Barbatos with the deadliest of death stare. “I hate you.” The rest of his glass gets chugged down.