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Ajax knew touch.
His little siblings’ hugs, his mother leaving kisses on his forehead, his father’s dependable arms holding him steady--
Ichor prisoning him in their hold, arms made of smooth gelatin that feels like boiling oil against his reddish skin--
Tartaglia knows touch.
The slice of a blade against skin, the crack of whip against his arm, the fingers strangling around his neck that leaves unforgettable marks.
They make him feel alive, each one of them; every pain, every cut, the blood he spills and the blood that his enemy spills - their touch feels like thorns on his skin, grazing into lines of red across his body. Scars are memories etched into the body, each with its own untold stories within.
So yes, Childe knows touch.
It's how he receives their message or their intention even better than them spitting empty threats and barking nonsense at his face.
After all, what says: "I'll kill you" better than a cut to your throat? Or a stab to your stomach? Or that monstrous hand grabbing your neck and just... twist ?
Years of associating any kind of touch to harmful intent makes it pretty hard whenever someone else - especially those he barely knows - tries to lay a hand on him. Even if it’s just a poke on the arm or an unintentional bump on the crowded streets. There’s no switch to turn it off, to stop correlating any kind of touch with pain that he has to consciously stop himself from pulling a dagger to a harmless stranger on the street.
It’s a valid reason that Tsaritsa stopped bringing him for any private, cordial party that requires any sort of charade of intimacy. He’s a weapon to kill, not a ring to be adorned and attract people’s gazes like what other Harbinger sometimes do.
So for the Cryo Archon to suddenly allow him this mission in Liyue is quite startling. Ultimately, the goal of his mission is to confront the Geo Archon though and possibly have a real long and good fight before he can steal the Gnosis out of the god’s unconscious body.
He doesn’t expect Tsaritsa to introduce him to Zhongli.
Having a company is supposed to aid him to traverse across Liyue under the guise of a learning visitor; a diplomat seeking for knowledge and cultural exchange. And Zhongli is the perfect person to be chosen as his escort during this lengthy stay. Resourceful and steady, the Funeral Consultant - to his surprise, that’s actually the man’s real occupation - is a wellspring of anything that he needs.
Almost as if, the man himself has journeyed through history pages, writing it with the people depicted in its yellowing papers.
Of course, out of formality, he shook hands with the man to establish the contract; it’s only genial of him to do so, especially when he’s carrying the Cryo Archon’s name. The shake was firm, almost unyielding as their hands were pressed together, gloved fingers tightly wrapped around his. Childe almost pulled away from the sudden vice-like grip. His smile faltered for a brief second before he recovered with a comment on how ‘strong’ the other’s grip is.
Zhongli apologized after and released him cautiously.
That was that.
But apparently, despite how seemingly enigmatic and distant the Funeral Consultant is, being in the constant companion of someone means sometimes he would be subjected to accidental brush and unintentional bump as they navigated Liyue together. It made him on alert every time they were out for dinner or lunch or even just for a simple stroll.
The first time it happened, they were making mundane purchases from a little stall along the harbor. With ease of habit, he had paid for the items, receiving it and offering it to the consultant with a wink. The older man seemed astonished at his quick exchange, though he accepted it with grace, murmuring a solemn thank you as the item changed place.
That’s when he felt it; the minuscule pressure which fleeted across his fingers. Leather, his mind supplied, trying to be helpful as his instinct demanded him to move away. For a moment, he saw nothing. The next second, he had retracted his hand away, smiling sweetly as Zhongli pocketed the item into the inner side of his coat.
That’s okay, he had thought - convinced himself. Just a one time thing, he’s just careless since this is the person that Tsaritsa has trusted too.
It’s not a one time thing.
Something akin to obliviousness seems to linger around the Funeral Consultant - almost making him look like an airhead - belied only by his sharp senses and worldly knowledge. Casual touches that people would probably wave it off were given and sometimes, even the ones that should probably not be shown in public, according to his standard, were also being applied to him.
That one accident with a pair of chopsticks in the restaurant told him that Zhongli must have quite a wide private bubble. Either that or he simply sees nothing wrong with that kind of touch. It confused him, these touches, they are gentle, sending not pain but comfort and a slight tinge of something he has yet to name.
He even had the urge to ask Zhongli for a spar, to make sure that his touch can also inflict him with pain, just like everyone else.
But Zhongli is a civilian despite the Vision dangling enticingly on his back and Tsaritsa had warned him off of harming any civilians unless they’re getting in his way.
So he learns to let the touch slip, to translate every touch of fingers or nudges from a shoulder as mere coincidence.
This train of thought doesn’t last long.
When Zhongli’s fingers swipes across his lips, he freezes in the spot; unblinkingly staring at the bowl of rice in front of him as his hands stuck in that awkward angle with the chopsticks in between his fingers. “There's a rice sticking on the corner of your lips, Childe,” the man says, calm, collected; the exact opposite of what’s currently going on inside his head, “...you’re quite a messy eater, aren’t you?”
He should reply back; laugh and brush it off as nothing. Maybe he can deny it, or maybe he can accept it and make something funny out of it. But his body wouldn’t listen, his puzzled mind finally piecing the two and two together and coming into a conclusion. One that he wishes he hadn’t found out at all.
It’s desire.
Childe eats the rest of his food in a hurry before excusing himself in awkward, stuttered and probably, an obvious lie.
He knows touch.
The pain that follows. The threat behind them each. That each time someone touches him it is for the intention to hurt him.
Childe knew all of that.
But Zhongli’s touch? His hands on him, their fingers tangled together?
He wants them.
And the scariest part is, he doesn’t mind this thought.
It started like an instinctive urge.
A strange hunger that growled when he saw the Harbinger for the very first time, casually striding into his territory without so much as a hesitation in his steps despite having to enter another Archon’s domain of authority. Flaunting his title, despite assuming a role of a peaceful diplomat, and wouldn't hesitate to put people in their place. Either with violence or sweet yet sharp with truth words.
Granted, he is not Morax now - nor a god - but a mere mortal named ‘Zhongli’ who was tasked to accompany the Fatui in his stay.
He tried to ruminate about this strange hunger; it feels so different from the ‘human’s hunger’ his mortal body had made him experience. It’s another kind of hunger, that one which sparks innocent desire where he wants to take the Harbinger’s hand and perhaps ‘cuddle’ together as they said in human’s choice of wordings. And to the more inhuman ones where he wants to own Childe, to keep him as his trophy, away from prying eyes.
Only His.
Curbing this darker kind of desire wasn’t easy. It certainly didn’t help when he was filled with the urge to touch the ginger-haired man, to run his fingers across that fair cheek and cup that beautiful face to tilt the chin and catch those lips with his own. All of those that he had never experienced before.
But his senses noticed something else that made him halt his progress.
The way Childe flinches whenever he is touched without warning. Freezes when something more intimate is presented to him. Or the way he subtly moves away so their shoulders would have a gap between them even when they’re waddling through the crowds. And how Childe is quick to retract his hand when they exchange items.
Zhongli has not yet comprehended fully about how physical touch works, especially one that is given to another in private moments. He has meticulously studied this topic from human's literature, absorbing and remembering it in theory. Field observation has also been done to check for how this theory is applied in real life situations. A touch between family members is different in purpose from a touch between lovers. Though they might have shared a similar type.
In practice, he concludes, it requires another skill such as the capability to read the atmosphere or know what relationship that one has with another. And for him, it also requires a great deal of self-control to keep his strength from leaking out. It wouldn't do if he, say, shakes someone's hand and accidentally breaks their fingers.
It is why he takes it slowly, gradually, step by step as if he’s watching the constant drop of water dripping into the sturdy stone to create a recess on where it lands. A frustratingly drawn-out process, yet necessary to ease Childe into it.
He started small: a touch here, a nudge there - little pokes like a child with a branch, prodding at things of interest though his observation is definitely more purposeful and less aimless than that. Eventually, after considering that Childe is used enough with these perpetual ‘little pokes’, he tested the brazen ones. Those that he judged as something that Childe would definitely try to subtly push him away from.
To his surprise and delight, the Harbinger did not pull away nor did he try to push him away. He merely grew tense, obliged not to offend him by his duty to the Archon who had commanded his presence here.
Taking this as a chance, he began to leave even bolder touches.
And observed.
He took note of which touch left which reaction. Holding off from pushing further if Childe reacted with a rather visible discomfort or risking it with more personal ones when he is allowed an inch. The Geo Archon was cautious. Very. He would prefer to keep Childe as a close friend at the very least and something more if the best outcome could be harvested after his careful ministration.
Then, Childe ran.
Zhongli was careless.
Just as he’s trying to get Childe used to his own touch, his body, too, grew used to touching Childe. It’s not even a primal instinct at this point, it’s human to gain a habit after doing something in routines for a period of time. It is inescapable.
Zhongli let him leave; it was partly his fault, after all. It was his carelessness that had made his limb move not of his own accord - the growing habit finally piercing through his restraint.
He didn’t regret it one bit.
To his pleasant surprise, Childe doesn’t avoid him after that incident. His smile is still there, the casual way he carries himself is still in effect. A progress ? Zhongli questions, though a little skeptic as this is quite an abrupt change for a human.
But it is preferable to seeing Childe dodges him.
So he deems it appropriate to continue his attempt.
When he first tries to hold the other’s hand, he has expected a recoil. Yet Childe does not do so. He flinches, yes, stiffens and his gaze snaps toward him; to their joined hand before a little, nervous smile appears on his face as he says in a teasing tone, “I won’t lose in a crowd that easily, Zhongli sensei” without slipping it out of his loosened hold.
He stays; not squeezing back, nor holding his own back. He just stays.
That one, he chalks as a progress.
And also the one after, in which he slides a hand to Childe’s waist in an attempt to keep him in balance when a hurrying worker bumps into the Harbinger rather harshly. He even sneaks a squeeze that earns him an adorable yelp from the younger man. Which ends with a pout on that face and a retort of fingers running on his waist. Apparently it is supposed to ‘tickle’ him, to which he replies that he probably is not ‘ticklish’ as Childe seems to put it.
The disappointed pout on Childe’s face is diligently noted. Perhaps he could make it so his body feel ticklish? Though he doubts it would be an advantage when someone is that sensitive to touch.
He wonders if Childe is ticklish.
Then, the one after that, in which he ruffles the messy ginger locks - which is really soft to his delight - after he has picked out a leaf that had landed there. That one has drawn a soft smile out of Childe's lips, before the Harbinger replies him with a ruffle to his own dark brown locks as well, mumbling, perhaps, unconsciously, about how good he’s being.
This , he underlines with emphasis in his mental note.
Whether unconsciously or not, Childe has started to accept his touch.
It makes his instinct purr in delight, makes it roar in a rare show of vanity.
If only his contract with the Tsaritsa is not in effect, he would certainly pursue a relationship with this young man.
But patient...his mind whispers, he has to be patient and persistent before he can truly collect his reward.
A week after, Osial’s seal breaks.
Childe knows the physical pain which comes from a touch. It’s grounding; a reminder for him as to who he is - his identity.
The Vanguard of the Harbinger, The Eleventh, Tartaglia. That name he carries around has burdens and responsibilities in tow.
It is not, he admits, a name to be carried lightly.
So when he loses himself, when he questions who he is, what he is, he always goes out to find an opponent who can hurt him. To remind him of himself, of his purpose and duty, of the name that Tsaritsa had bestowed upon him - Her trust for him to carry the weight it harbors.
That’s why he has spat that challenge.
Childe can’t comprehend this new kind of pain; the one that doesn’t leave mark nor does it physically hurt -- no, it does physically hurt despite the gentleness or the actual intention behind all those touches he has grown used to.
Make it hurt, he wants to say, make your touch hurt too, just like everyone else.
And it does.
He even has bruises and cuts all around his body to show it off. Marks that prove his spar with an Archon, pain that reminds him that Zhongli’s touch can hurt him.
That should be enough, right? That should be enough to remind Childe of who he is...right?
But then, the hand on his wounded body speaks a different purpose than to hurt him. The former Archon has kneeled before his exhausted body, picks him up with gentleness that belies his previous fierce attacks. He is placed down tenderly under the shade of trees as those hands work to strip him of his shirt, before starting the diligent process of cleaning his numerous wounds. One by one.
It is frustrating and bewildering; they are still the same hands, the same pair which had wielded a spear worthy to be called as a God of Martial Arts. They are now applying ointment on his cut, wiping the smear of blood as occasionally, his cheek is stroked.
“Why?” he asks, grabbing at the wrist, too befuddled to pull it away from his body as it craves more, “...is this your way of mocking me?”
Zhongli pauses, those Cor Lapis hued eyes are staring at him soberly, “I respect you and our spar, Childe,” warm finger runs up from the cut on his side, “...but it is fundamentally, a spar , not a fight to the death between arch nemesis. I always regard you as a good friend of mine”
A good friend you convince to lay their trust in you before you betray them at will?
The former Archon winces, oh, he had said that out loud, “I do not wish for you to forgive me that easily for that deception I have to misled you with, Childe, but permit me to tell you this,” a hand cups his face and he should hate this, it should be a hand on his neck, choking him to death not...not this , “...everything I did in these past few months is not a lie. I do, consider you in the highest regard. From your strength to your enthusiasm and your beauty - they all are attractive in my eyes”
His face is getting closer, their foreheads are gently pressed together, his own heart is thudding too loudly, “If you would allow me one last chance, I would be delighted to court you properly this time” the former Archon declares with such earnest eyes, in such a sincere voice, with delicate touches on his cheek. He sees them, tries to read behind them, to find the malevolent intention so he can brush it off as a charade; that Zhongli has the same exact hand as everyone else who wants to murder him.
Yet there's none. Those eyes are clear and honest and the touch on his body is too gentle, too careful as if he's a precious item to be cherished and worshipped.
That is how Ajax finally, finally relents.
They share their first kiss under the Liyue’s sun, obscured by the trees.