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“Will you spar with me, Xiansheng?”
The question was as familiar to Zhongli as Liyue Harbor itself. It was a question asked consistently, every two days, when Childe inevitably came to visit. The eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers was busy, but he somehow always managed to find time for the former Geo archon.
It was getting annoying.
On this afternoon, Zhongli quietly stirred his tea while staring at the clock as the seconds ticked by. It was a slow day at the funeral parlor, as per usual, but he was occupied nonetheless. Any time that the second hand of the clock ticked was a second in which Childe could walk through the door. Tick. Tick. Tick.
True to routine, right as the clock ticked again, a knock came at the folding screen that separated the space that functioned as Zhongli’s office in the parlor. Without waiting for a response, Childe poked his head around the screen and slid into the office with a smile.
“Zhongli,” he said happily, waving as he always did and sitting in the chair across from Zhongli. “I have a few minutes off of work, so I thought I would pop by to see you! How’re things over here?”
Zhongli fought to keep from rolling his eyes and took a long sip of his sufficiently cooled tea. Even after the excruciatingly long silence, Childe was still there, waiting expectantly for an answer. It wasn’t like the man to have this much patience. Normally, he would either tease Zhongli for his silence, or talk about himself to fill it. This was already highly unusual.
That was why Zhongli set down his teacup. “It has been rather busy lately,” he lied. It wasn’t like there were people lining up to pre-order coffins, or dropping dead like flies. Hu Tao looked sullen because of this, though she conceded that it was probably good there were so few deaths in Liyue Harbor. Childe, however, did not have to know any of that.
The ginger was undeterred. “Aw, that sucks,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Hey, if you need a break from all that, why don’t we have a little spar? I won’t keep you too long~”
The last sentence was singsong, almost playful. Childe leaned closer, his smile turning into a confident smirk. Zhongli didn’t care for the feeling that sparked in his heart, and he chose to ignore it.
As per the routine, one that was slowly becoming engraved in stone, Zhongli declined. “I have too much work to do,” he said vaguely. “Besides, the two of us may get arrested for public brawling. I’m afraid I haven’t the time for that.”
Yet another lie, but a familiar one. Zhongli knew it wouldn’t last long, of course. Childe, while often… well, childish… was astute and perceptive. A sharpness not unlike his blades lurked behind those ocean eyes, and it was only a matter of time before that sharpness cut Zhongli’s lies away.
This time had come far, far sooner than Zhongli had anticipated, though. He supposed that he was still able to underestimate mortals, despite the many centuries of experience he had. Perhaps, he mused, that was why he underestimated them.
Childe’s eyes narrowed, the ocean-hued pools becoming dark. “Xiansheng,” he began softly, yet sharply. “You can’t possibly be this busy every day. I know you’re avoiding this, but I don’t know why. You have no excuse, so don’t make any.”
The ginger had gone from pleasantly eager to darkly angered in seconds. Zhongli supposed he’d reached a boiling point, of sorts. This was the Fatui Harbinger Tartaglia, not the young, wealthy boy called Childe.
Zhongli blinked slowly, folding his hands on top of his desk. “I suppose,” he said quietly, “I have been making excuses and avoiding sparring with you. Truthfully, I simply do not wish to do it, Childe.”
There. The truth was out now, and Zhongli couldn’t help but wonder how Childe would react. Would be be angry? Saddened? Would he shrug it off? Mortal reactions were always so strange and curious, and Zhongli often found himself fascinated by how such a restless man would respond to a man with endless patience.
Of course, much like the weather, Childe was unpredictable. The ginger cracked a smile and laughed, throwing his head back. He looked back at Zhongli, and while his face bore a joyful grin, his eyes were frothing with anger and… hurt.
“You wound me, Zhongli,” Tartaglia said. His tone was joking, but his eyes were deadly serious. “Am I that annoying? Or am I just not strong enough to face the great Rex L—“
Suddenly, a gloved hand was on Childe’s mouth. Zhongli barely registered his own reaction as he listened for Hu Tao, frowning slightly. Hearing nothing, his heart was still not put at ease. The funeral director could be shockingly stealthy when she wanted to be. Zhongli waited a moment, then another, before finally sitting back in his chair and slowly removing his hand from Childe’s face.
“Do not,” he said quietly, “do that again. Am I understood?” Director Hu was already suspicious enough. Most of her jokes about Zhongli’s age and behavior were just that— jokes. Still, he couldn’t help but fear she knew more than she let on. He didn’t know how she would react to the truth, so he kept it a secret.
Meanwhile, Childe looked almost catatonic. His expression was entirely blank, and his eyes lacked the little depth they had in the first place. They were almost reflective as he stared at Zhongli for an amount of time that would make any mortal uncomfortable.
The Harbinger’s recovery was quick, though. A minute or two into the silence, Childe snapped out of it, becoming lively and animated just as quickly as he’d grown still. Zhongli noticed a faint redness to his ears, but brushed it off. It was probably nothing.
“Sorry, Xiansheng,” Childe said with an easygoing chuckle. “My competitiveness got the better of me. Still, a spar would be an amazing opportunity! We could both better our skills!”
Zhongli sighed. “While I am recovering my lost strength,” he admitted, “this is not the right way to do it. You cannot rush progress.”
Childe rolled his eyes. “Come oooon,” he whined, having resorted to dramatics to get what he wanted. “Pleeease? I’ll leave you alone about it, I promise! Just one spar?”
That was certainly a tempting offer. Zhongli raised an eyebrow, contemplating. “You swear?” Childe nodded.
There was a pause, and then: “Very well then. I shall spar with you once, on the condition that you stop pestering me about it so incessantly. Also,” Zhongli held up a finger to interrupt Childe’s upcoming interjection, “you must agree to pay for dinner later. Do we have a deal?”
The words hung in the air for a brief moment, before a smirk slowly spread across Childe’s face. A light danced in his eyes, and Zhongli found himself unable— or unwilling— to look away.
“I’ll agree to that,” Childe said slowly. Zhongli reached out a hand, offering a handshake, but the ginger wasn’t finished. “If,” he said slyly, “you win, that is.”
Ah. Zhongli should have expected that. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he felt his single earring brush his neck as he tilted his head. “Interesting,” he muttered. “And what, may I ask, makes you believe you would win?”
This was clearly not how Childe had expected the ex-archon to react. The Harbinger’s eyes widened for a split second before he laughed and leaned backward in his chair. Zhongli watched quietly, taking note of the faint pink that dusted his companion’s cheeks. Was Childe… flustered? That was certainly an interesting development, to say the least.
Childe’s laughter faded, and suddenly his expression was smug again as he leaned forward, stopping only a few inches from Zhongli’s face. “Getting cocky, are we,” he said, his voice quiet and raspy. “I hate to break it to you, but you admitted yourself that you’re weaker without your gnosis. I’m looking forward to besting an archon in combat.”
Zhongli raised an eyebrow, electing to ignore the Harbinger’s sultry gaze. “You,” he said quietly, his voice dropping low, “seem to be the cocky one here.” With that, the funeral consultant pushed back in his chair and stood sharply.
“Now then,” he said, taking some pleasure in Childe’s awestruck expression, “shall we go? We have little time before Director Hu notices I am gone, and I would like to get this done quickly.”
Childe stood so forcefully, his chair began to fall backwards. Without even glancing at it, the Harbinger stopped its fall and set it straight with a slightly lopsided smile. The imperfection, while minuscule, somehow struck Zhongli as beautiful. It was a very pleasant smile indeed, and the ex-archon found himself glad it was friendly. He suspected that smile would quickly turn vicious on the battlefield, and he did not want to truly be on the opposite side when that time came.
Tartaglia tilted his head in a way that reminded Zhongli of his own mannerisms earlier, the Harbinger’s earring tapping against his pale neck. “Ah, Zhongli,” he said, almost condescendingly. “For such a patient man, you sure are in a rush. It doesn’t have to be a secret, you know.”
Zhongli raised an eyebrow. “I am simply looking out for my job and private life, Childe,” he said drily. “Now, where exactly do you have in mind for this …friendly spar?”
Childe grinned slyly. “I have just the place…”
—————————
West of Mt. Tianheng, two men circled around each other slowly. One bore a confident, excited grin as he summoned two blades made entirely of water. His sapphire eyes crackled with excitement, and he dropped into a fighting stance. His vision reflected the sun in a dance of blue and gold, a faint, yet roaring power thrumming in the air.
The other man appeared contemplative, yet somewhat bored. He languidly twirled a polearm in his fingers, feeling a faint twinge of nostalgia at the familiar weight. His steps were slow, and his stance strong as he finally stopped in place. He stood tall and sturdy, unbreakable and unwavering in the face of the coming storm.
There was a brief pause, and the 11th of the Fatui Harbingers twirled his blades to bring them into a reverse grip. “Don’t go easy on me, okay,” he called across the open field. “We’re not near any people, so you have no excuse!” It seemed he was unwilling to let Zhongli’s earlier lies go.
The ex-archon did not respond, merely spinning his polearm one more time before tapping it on the rocky ground. The sound rang true, and Zhongli felt the familiar power of geo flood his veins. He had lost some of that strength in the loss of his gnosis, but in truth, he was still more than capable. He looked forward to knocking Childe down a peg.
The sing of metal against rock signaled the start of the match. Childe chuckled and lunged forward, bringing his blades up for an upward slash. Zhongli did not move, but the earth around him shook slightly as he formed a pillar in front of him. A glowing golden shield materialized just as twin swords struck, the hydro energy crystallizing as Childe leapt backward.
Another strike, just as quick, followed by a small snort of frustration. Tartaglia darted to the side, switching his hydro blades out for a wicked looking bow. He leapt into the air and fired five arrows at Zhongli. The shield held strong.
Childe growled irritably. This was not the plan. What was Zhongli doing? The ginger drew his bow again and fired arrow after arrow, growing increasingly frustrated as shot after shot crystallized against the golden shield. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but this was a far cry from what he’d wanted.
Zhongli, meanwhile, was watching Childe intently. His eyes glinted gold in the sunlight, reflecting the shards that splintered away from him as his shield finally shattered— not due to an attack, but to the steady drain of its power. Seeing the opening, Childe grinned and fired another arrow, only for it to sing against a reconstructed shield. Zhongli found that he didn’t like the way his opponent’s smile disappeared.
The one-sided fight continued, Tartaglia darting back and forth like a wasp, stinging with wild abandon.
No, not wild abandon. His eyes, while dark and angered, were as calculating as ever. Tartaglia was sharp, and he knew exactly where to strike. Zhongli would have to change his strategy soon, or—
The shield broke again, the time it had finally running out. Zhongli quickly began to prepare another, eyes locking onto Childe. Just as soon as his target was in sight, however, the ginger was gone.
Not seconds later, Tartaglia was inches away from the side of Zhongli’s face. The ex-archon’s mora-colored eyes widened as whispered words grazed his ear: “I told you not to go easy on me.” Then, a hard kick to the side sent Zhongli staggering to the left, his solid foundation shaking under the sheer force of the blow.
Childe watched Zhongli pick himself back up, noting the faint glow that seemed to spark in his eyes. The Harbinger grinned at the frown that had appeared on his opponent’s face. That’s it, he thought triumphantly. Get angry. Show me what you can really do, Rex Lapis.
The wasp darted forward once again, summoning his blades of water and striking, only for sharp liquid to clang against metal in a unique SPACK. Childe’s smile widened as he kicked at Zhongli’s polearm, which had risen to block him. This kick was effortlessly sidestepped, then returned as Zhongli’s boot planted firmly on Childe‘s stomach.
Tartaglia staggered backwards, grunting with the fresh bloom of pain, but laughing all the same. “There you are,” he barked, drawing his bow and firing off a volley of arrows so quickly, Zhongli had no time to form a shield.
Instead, the man dodged, moving faster than Childe had ever seen him move. Zhongli vanished, replaced by golden light as multiple glowing spears struck the earth. Childe felt one graze him painfully, but he didn’t register the blood that dripped down his arm. Instead, he whirled around to build momentum for a close-range attack, striking just as Zhongli reappeared.
The ex-archon grunted with the impact of the slash, but Childe noticed no blood or even sign of injury. The Harbinger could have sworn he saw something glow under Zhongli’s torn sleeve, only for this thought to be interrupted by a hard strike to his left knee with a polearm.
Pain exploded as he went down, but with it came a rush of adrenaline and excitement. The pain meant he was alive, and archons, it was glorious. He laughed, pushing past what felt like a fractured kneecap, and standing straight. He fended off blow after blow as Zhongli finally took the offensive.
The earth shook, and Childe narrowly avoided the pillar that cracked the ground as it emerged. Zhongli watched, amused, as another shot was fired at him, deflecting it effortlessly. It had been quite some time since he’d had to fight in this way.
Well… he didn’t have to fight like this— so aggressively. Rex Lapis was a rock, a mountain, unwavering in the face of a hurricane. He was a pillar of patience and, in some ways, stagnation. He could simply summon his shield and be done with it.
Today, however, he was not Rex Lapis. Today, he was Zhongli: a man who had gone far too long without a real challenge. A man who, despite himself, missed the thrill of a battle, of fighting tooth and nail to stay alive. He was not just a mountain— he was an avalanche, and he found himself happily embracing it.
Another pillar was summoned, this time pummeling Childe into the air. With a twist of his lithe body, the Harbinger managed to right himself midair, firing another volley of arrows before he landed. Zhongli heard his coat tear again, and found himself annoyed. He liked that coat, and he didn’t exactly appreciate it getting damaged.
Childe dropped low and dashed forward, ready to slice at Zhongli’s legs, only to trip and sputter as something heavy and warm covered his face. He pawed at the fabric and cast it away just in time to tuck and roll into a dodge. A spear barely missed his face as it was kicked— kicked— directly at him with shocking force. He whirled around and took in his opponent, who had once again constructed his shield.
Childe would have been irritated were it not for the reason for this defensive position. His eyes widened and his breath hitched as he noticed the changes to Zhongli’s outfit. For the first time, Childe was seeing him without his coat.
Without it, it was much easier to see just how broad Zhongli’s chest was. It was honestly impressive, and Childe had to swallow to fight the urge to say something about it. His face turned hot and red as his opponent quietly removed his gloves and pushed up his sleeves, revealing dark, scaly forearms that glinted in the sunlight and pulsed with raw, golden power. The air almost seemed to thrum, the earth shifting ever so slightly. Childe couldn’t help but stare.
Zhongli cleared his throat, snapping Tartaglia out of his daze. He raised an eyebrow. This brief lull in the battle had been unexpected. It wasn’t like Childe to wait courteously while his opponent removed their coat.
The ex-archon chose to ignore just how hard Childe was staring at his arms and chest, and how red the Harbinger’s face was turning.
Tartaglia let out a strangled laugh, his voice hoarse and high-pitched. “Th-that was a dirty trick,” he said in an attempt at a quip, though his voice cracks betrayed how flustered he really was. “I didn’t expect you to go so low!”
Zhongli chuckled, allowing his shield to lower. “I have found that expectations rarely turn out to be reality,” he fired back, his own voice sharper than usual. He felt a grin spread across his face, and he lunged forward, resuming the battle.
Back and forth, forth and back the attacks went. Dust flew under the feet of the battling duo, their movements becoming a deadly dance. Metal and rock struck water and sharp arrow tips, yet rarely skin. It was a stalemate, albeit a violent one, but neither fighter cared.
Laughter rang across the battle field, bubbling up from a certain ginger’s mouth. It was met with a wild grin filled with teeth that almost looked sharp in the now-setting sunlight. Two pairs of eyes shone brightly, twin coins and pools of water locking onto each other with determination.
The light of the sun had turned gold, but Zhongli found himself looking forward to the darkness. It reminded him of Childe, and only made the fight more thrilling. The stars shone down in judgement, but he didn’t care. For the first time in centuries, he felt free, and he would be damned if he didn’t enjoy it.
He dashed forward, avoiding a stab from a blade and aimed an attack at Childe’s abdomen. He was quickly pushed back, however, by an outward slash and subsequent shock wave. Zhongli saw power well around Childe, and his eyes widened. He threw up his shield, unsure of what was coming, and dashed backwards cautiously.
The air filled with a loud wail as a massive hydro manifestation of a narwhal erupted from the youngest Fatui Harbinger. It glowed a brilliant sky blue, and Zhongli found himself mesmerized. Such a beautiful piece of art being such a deadly weapon somehow made it more incredible.
The spray of water and crystals as the narwhal crashed against his shield mixed shimmering gold with azure beauty. It was one of the most incredible sights Zhongli had ever seen in his thousands of years.
At last, the torrent of water ceased, Zhongli’s shield breaking just before the end. A thick wall of water crashed into him, sending pain shooting through his entire body, but he held strong. He coughed up the water, and was mildly surprised to hear the raw, guttural laugh that tore its way out of his throat.
“This,” he grunted breathlessly, “is getting interesting.” He hadn’t noticed his injuries before, but now they ached and complained as he put his weapon away. He managed to dodge another slash from Childe, who raised an eyebrow and let go of his own blades, allowing them to dissipate into drops of water. Fisticuffs it was, then.
Childe tilted his body, attempting to deliver a powerful kick, only for it to be sidestepped by Zhongli, who returned the attack. The Fatui Harbinger grunted as he staggered from the force of the blow, clutching his side. Zhongli took advantage of this opportunity, leaping backwards.
His feet planted in the ground, his legs once again becoming pillars that held strong. He felt the power of geo resonate in his bones and soul, grinning at the familiar rush. The golden tracings on his arms disappeared in the brilliant glow of his hands as he thrust them to the side, allowing an earthquake to flow through him.
The sky turned gold and dusty, and Childe sucked in a breath as he saw what rushed toward him. He threw up a hydro shield, knowing it would do little in the end. Having no idea what else to do, the Fatui Harbinger did what he’d never done before: he ran, blood pumping with adrenaline. Despite the impending doom that hurtled toward him, he was having the time of his life.
This was what it truly felt like to do battle with a god.
Zhongli watched his opponent scramble to move out of the way. Power thrummed in his body, and for a moment, he was different. He was not Rex Lapis, the geo archon. He was not Zhongli, the funeral consultant. He was Morax, the god of contracts, the warrior god— always the victor.
Always the one with blood on his hands.
Zhongli opened his eyes, finally realizing that he had closed them. His vision was dark, then as he adjusted to the light of the full moon, he saw just what he and Childe had done.
The plain was completely destroyed. Rocks lay upturned and smashed to pieces, and trees lay in splinters. A thick cloud of dust was settling around the field, a familiar gentle breeze swirling it and blowing it away. Zhongli gritted his teeth, feeling tiny grains of dirt crunch between them. He didn’t pay attention to this, however, his eyes locked on the massive crater that had appeared not far from where he stood.
Slowly, he uprooted his legs and walked forward. It was agonizing, but he couldn’t bring himself to move faster. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let himself go so far?
Fearing the worst, Zhongli swallowed hard before coming to a stop at the edge of the crater. His golden eyes flitted around, searching for a sign.
Someone groaned and coughed at the bottom of the crater. Zhongli snapped out of his daze and gracefully slid down the side of the crater, allowing his momentum to carry him the rest of the way until he stood over the crumpled figure of Childe.
Tartaglia blinked, a tall, dark figure coming into his blurry vision. He squinted, and the image cleared to reveal Zhongli. His dark hair dipped in amber glowed silver in the moonlight, though his eyes were as golden as ever. They seemed to glow like twin suns, the light behind them flickering with worry.
Childe coughed, his chest burning with fresh pain. His coughing, however, turned into laughter as he forced himself to sit up. He winced, then smiled up at the man who had bested him so easily.
“W-wow,” he said, every bone in his body singing with awe, ecstasy, and adrenaline. “You… damn, that was amazing!”
Tartaglia felt… humbled. That was the only way he could think to describe it. He was almost high on the thrill of the fight, but he still recognized the authority of who he was looking at.
Morax frowned slightly, concern turning into confusion for a split second before he shook his head slowly. “Are you alright,” he asked, though he seemed to already know the answer.
“Me? Oh, I’m—“ Childe coughed. “I’m right as rain!” He was, truly. His body was battered and beaten, but he wasn’t going to die. He had faced against a god, gotten to witness true, raw power at its finest. The Geo Archon and the eleventh Fatui Harbinger, locked in a battle of strength and wits, only one emerging the victor— and it was very clear that the victor deserved that title.
There was a brief pause, and then Zhongli quietly summoned his polearm. Childe’s breath hitched for a moment— not with fear, but with… well, he didn’t quite understand the feeling. It only intensified when the god of contracts spun his weapon and pointed the tip at Childe’s neck.
Tartaglia felt himself begin to tremble. He felt completely exposed like this: his guard down, him lying defeated at the bottom of a crater caused by the blow that had finished him off. For the first time in he didn’t know how long, he didn’t feel like a Fatui Harbinger.
For the first time, he felt like Ajax.
What seemed like hours passed, though the lack of change in the moon’s position behind Zhongli indicated seconds. Childe found himself staring at his sparring partner unabashedly, drinking in Zhongli’s sharp shoulders, his soft bangs falling gently across his face and framing it perfectly. His still-exposed forearms, golden light pulsing under shining black scales.
Scales, Tartaglia thought, feeling his face heat up. He really was a dragon. I just fought a dragon.
“Ahem.” Childe snapped out of it, blinking rapidly at the sound of Zhongli clearing his throat. The sound was a low rumble, not unlike thunder, and his deep voice was a pleasant echo as he tapped his foot once, twice.
“You’re bleeding.”
Childe blinked again, looking down at his shirt. As he did this, he did not see blood, but rather felt it as it began to drip from his nose at an alarming rate. It ran into his mouth, and his likely-broken nose ached painfully. He spat some of then blood out and laughed through the pain, though he felt a pang of regret when he saw the alarm in Zhongli’s eyes.
The ex-archon slowly retracted his weapon, the tip barely grazing Childe’s throat before it disappeared entirely. Zhongli crouched down and held out his hand, looking resigned as he did so.
“Come,” he sighed. “You’re bleeding heavily, and I’m sure you’re having internal issues as well. We must get you to Dr. Baizhu immedia—“
Zhongli was interrupted by Childe locking hands with him and pulling himself up. The two men stumbled into each other, both wincing from the pain of their respective injuries. One of Childe’s hands landed on Zhongli’s chest, the other still grasping at the other man’s hand. Zhongli, meanwhile, wound up holding Childe’s side.
Golden pools stared into empty oceans, both reflecting the silver moonlight like mirrors. A scaly hand snaked around Childe’s body, as if on autopilot. Tartaglia’s own hand roamed upward, moving to gently brush his opponent’s bangs away from his face.
This was a different kind of battle. Childe and Zhongli both sensed it, though neither could quite place what it meant. They stared into each other’s eyes so intensely, they barely registered just how close they were, their bodies pressed against each other. Even as they stared, that distance was closed slowly, their faces moving closer and closer together. Their hearts pounded in unison, and one vision pulsed in rhythm with two sets of glowing tattoos.
Childe’s breath warmed Zhongli’s lips, and the Harbinger slowly lowered his eyelids. His breath hitched, and he leaned forward eagerly, stopping just short of where his lips longed to touch. He breathed in deeply, taking in his opponent’s scent— earthy and strong, yet warm and spicy, much like Liyue itself. The dust settled at last, leaving nothing but Zhongli, Childe, and the moonlight.
Closer and closer the two men’s lips grew. They were entirely out of their own control by now, consumed entirely by the desire— no, the need to close the final distance. Childe felt his muscles tense to surge forward, but he managed to restrain himself. This was a moment he did not want to end. Hell, he would do everything in his power to preserve it. He would move the stars, the Abyss, and Celestia itself, just to savor the closeness, the intimacy of that very moment.
Of course, nothing lasts forever.
The ginger’s nose ached, and another wave of blood gushed from it and onto his and Zhongli’s clothes. Almost instantly, the spell was broken, and Childe wanted to tear his hair out. His heart still thudded in his ears, but he could feel that beautiful synchronization he and his partner had shared disappear.
Zhongli pulled away, and Childe felt his wounds ache. He couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional pain anymore. These days, the two tended to blend together.
The funeral consultant cleared his throat roughly, and he quickly began to remove his soiled vest. Childe’s eyes widened, his breath hitching once again, though he stayed in place.
He watched from a small distance that felt like an entire world as Zhongli’s white shirt strained against his movements. His biceps only flexed ever so slightly, but they were impressive nonetheless. His chest and stomach pressed against the fabric, revealing just how toned, how powerful the man truly was.
Childe’s voice cracked as he forced a chuckle. “S-sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse and pained. “About your vest, I mean.” With his concentration broken, and his adrenaline high calming down, his pain returned tenfold. Zhongli had been right. He really did need a doctor.
The ex-archon shook his head as he tucked his vest under his arm. “It’s quite alright,” he muttered quietly. His voice was husky and dry, though he cleared his throat once more to shake this off.
He turned to fully face Childe, boldly resuming eye contact. “Now then,” he said, slightly louder. “Let’s go. We must tend to our wounds urgently.” Especially yours. The words hung in the air, unspoken, though Childe knew they were in his sparring partner’s thoughts. Another spark of worry flashed in Zhongli’s mora-colored eyes.
Childe swallowed, then took a step forward. His knee screamed in pain, and he cried out as he fell. He remembered the bone-shattering blow Zhongli had dealt to his knee and grimaced, tumbling to the ground in slow-motion. His other wounds erupted into a chorus of screeching nerves and broken bones. He hadn’t felt this much pain since the first time he’d used his Foul Legacy transformation, and it was agony.
Before he could further injure himself by hitting the ground, he felt a pair of strong, warm arms catch him gently, maneuvering him so he was braced against a set of broad shoulders. Childe inhaled sharply, recognizing Zhongli as his savior.
“Heh, thanks,” he said with faux casualness. “I can’t believe I have a knight in shining armor! What an honor!”
To his surprise, Zhongli chuckled, his shoulders bouncing with true laughter. Immediately, the tense, worried static that clung to the air cleared, leaving only gentle moonlight and a perfect smile that lit up Childe’s entire universe more than the sun or moon ever could.
“Well,” Zhongli said, the smooth rumble of his voice vibrating in Childe’s chest as it echoed through the night. “I do believe you owe this ‘knight in shining armor’ dinner, though it is rather late. Remember the terms of our contract?”
Tartaglia blinked rapidly, his mind moving at a snail’s pace. “Contract?” He frowned slightly. “I never signed a contract! Is your memory failing you in your old age?”
A small smirk graced Zhongli’s lips, and Childe nearly began to shake again. “My memory is fine,” the ex-archon said confidently, almost seeming cocky. “Yours seems to be the one that’s failing, Childe. Do you not remember our agreement?”
“I shall spar with you once, on the condition that you stop pestering me about it so incessantly. Also, you must agree to pay for dinner later. Do we have a deal?”
The words came flooding back, and Childe was at once filled with amusement, disappointment, and confusion. He attempted to scowl, but he knew it had turned into a pout. “Wait,” he said, bristling. “That was just an agreement! I never signed anything!”
Zhongli arched his eyebrow and turned his head to fully face Childe, their faces nearly touching. “Verbal contracts are just as powerful and important as written ones,” the Lord of Geo whispered. His smirk grew, his lips parting slightly to reveal his teeth. Childe’s heart raced, and his head pounded, and all at once he realized that Zhongli, the God of Geo, was flirting with him.
He swallowed hard, then smiled. “Well,” he said with a tilt of his head, “if the God of Contracts himself says so, I guess I have no choice, eh?” Tartaglia found himself excited. Zhongli himself seemed not to notice his own flirting, but by the Archons, Childe had noticed. He couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Although… “Aw,” the ginger blurted, half on autopilot. “Damn! I guess we can’t spar anymore.” His face fell, though he made a valiant struggle to keep his smile. “It’s a shame,” he said with false cheer that dripped with disappointment. “I was looking forward to beating you next time.”
There was a moment of silence that hung like a heavy curtain over the decimated field. Then, Zhongli grunted as he started forward, pulling Childe along for a few steps before the ginger began to walk on his own. The funeral consultant opened and closed his mouth a few times, frowning as he struggled to find the words to say as he and his partner stumbled to Bubu Pharmacy.
He sucked in a breath, then seemed to find the words he liked. His smirk returned, and Childe felt himself fall all over again. He liked this side of Zhongli, he decided.
“You may not call on me for this purpose anymore,” Zhongli said simply. “However, our contract says nothing about me coming to you.”
Childe blinked once, twice. Then, he felt something in his chest that bubbled up and spread through his entire body, emerging from his mouth as overjoyed laughter. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t care. Severe injuries be damned, he was happy, and he wasn’t going to squander the feeling for his physical well-being.
“YES,” he shouted, pumping his free fist painfully. “Yes, that would be great! Just- just find me whenever, okay? I’ll make time!”
Zhongli’s smirk melted into a soft, fond smile. A faint pink dusted his cheeks, and for once, Childe could plainly see the Geo Archon laid bare before him. A strong, powerful warrior stained with blood, his hard edges softened by millennia of experience, love, and loss. And he was beautiful.
Zhongli hummed lightly, continuing his labored march. “I would like that,” he said softly. “I would like that very much.”
The men fell silent, though no words were needed. Childe leaned happily into his partner, savoring every moment while it lasted. Together, bathed in moonlight, they walked toward Liyue Harbor.
Perhaps they could both get used to this.