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“I’m here to tie loose ends in Liyue before I return to Snezhnaya. How about we start with you, oh benevolent Archon of Geo?”
Dull blues clash with molten gold. Harsh and indifferent, frigorific and uncaring.
“Let’s make a promise, then, it seems that’ll be the only way we can communicate.”
“Childe-”
“Let’s just forget this ever happened. I don’t want to be around you for more than necessary, and quite frankly, I don’t think you like how I’m wasting your time. I don’t want to dance around this any longer, so I’ll give it to you straight.”
Blue orbs glare, the only time it had ever sparked to life.
“Let’s just go back to being strangers, Mr Zhongli.”
Blue eyes snarl, sheathing their claws and scratching at his target. Golden eyes return his snare with befuddlement.
“This contract...you deem this beneficial?”
“I get out of your hair, you get out of mine. I think you’ve tugged at my heartstrings long enough, no?”
Tensions rise between the two, melted gold and icy blue no longer meeting with the other.
“Very well then. I bid you farewell, Tartaglia.”
“Good riddance to you too, Mr Zhongli.”
Childe arrives at the top of Chihu Rock, the impressive rolling hills and creviced cliffs all visible from his place on the cliff. It was a rather scorching morning, Childe feeling as if he could vaporise beneath the glaring heat of the sun’s ever golden rays. He released a deep breath as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead, slowly inching towards the cliff’s edge, the sights of the harbour and the forest of stone far beyond blanketed in gold.
He pauses about 5 feet away from his supposed perch, opting for his gaze to fall upon the immovable man beside it. Not a hair was out of place, not a wrinkle upon his coat, not even a bead of sweat seemed to adorn him. With how much Childe had learned to stare and watch Zhongli, it baffled him how much he saw past. It was mocking him, the way the man held himself with subdued confidence. He may no longer be an archon, but someone of his calibre could never truly mask the traces of otherworldliness.
He turned to face Childe, the red that lined his eyes emphasising the way his eyes glimmered as if he had set his sights on treasures. There was no smile to it, his face as neutral and stony-faced, but his eyes betrayed the composure he held. Childe felt as if Zhongli was looking into, reading his thoughts and emotions, navigating through the mess of feelings that swirled in his chest. Childe knew that archons couldn’t read minds, but it still felt as such anyway.
“Thank you for coming here on such short notice, Tartaglia.” Zhongli began, and Childe could see the way the man inhaled a deep breath as if merely uttering those words placed a weight on him. Childe wanted to claw at him, Zhongli’s formality towards him stung, suddenly realising the weight of a contract weeks past.
“It’s nothing really.” It took every fibre of Childe’s being to not viciously snap at him. To challenge him and insult him until he felt the very same humiliation he had back inside the lobby that had grown to become familiar to Childe. It took much more than a few hurt feelings for Childe’s professionality to snap.
Childe slowly made his way beside Zhongli, placing a rather large distance between him and the older man as he sat down on the grass, legs dangling off the cliff. Zhongli watched him settle down, his eyes tracing the image of Childe beneath the sun, the glistening light that lingered on his pale skin. Childe’s gaze falls on Zhongli, on the way the consultant reached for something beside him, deft slim fingers reaching into a bag.
“Would you want one?” Zhongli handed him a popsicle, and for a moment Childe wanted to laugh at the ex-archon. He stared at the confection handed to him, then back at Zhongli, the man seemingly indifferent, yet his eyes betraying what his face decided to hide. Childe wasn’t as good at reading Zhongli’s eyes, unlike the others, it reflected otherworldliness, masked beneath distance. It was a sordid reminder.
Childe wordlessly takes it from his hands, unwrapping it before biting into it. Though Childe’s pride would not let him admit that it felt sweltering beneath his rather light layers, he could at least relieve himself of the feeling. Instant relief washes over him as the coolness settles in his mouth. He found himself wondering why Zhongli brought these.
“They were from Xiangling, apparently she had made too much and wanted me to have the rest...” Zhongli paused, as if reluctant to continue with his words. He placed his hands on his lap. “She also wanted me to share them with you. It seems even after weeks of us not communicating, Xiangling still believes that we’re still thick as thieves.” Childe could hear the subtle bitterness in his Zhongli’s voice. It’s as if he wanted to emphasize the sudden uncrossable space between them.
“Let’s just forget this ever happened.”
He chuckled back a strained response. “I suppose she misses the amount of mora I tip her.”
Another soft chuckle spills from Zhongli’s lips before the silence consumes them once more, neither of them knowing what to say. Before all this, Zhongli would go on for hours about the cultural significance of a napkin fold, about how the fallen, dried leaves on the ground held metaphorical meaning in ancient poems, about how phoenixes were much more than glorious symbols of pride. Now, not even a word came from Zhongli, his silence yet another reminder of what their relationship had gone through.
It was horrifying to see how easy relationships could crumble with a few choice words. How certain, seemingly minuscule actions can make one leave what once was in the dust, the bond once strong was nothing but memories to linger on. Conflicting feelings bubbled in Childe. He shouldn’t be talking with Zhongli. He shouldn’t be thinking about popping over at the funeral parlour to steal the man away for dinner for two. He shouldn’t expect their lives to intersect once more after their contract ended. They used each other, and both got what they needed. They were business associates, maybe acquaintances, but nothing more.
But he hated Zhongli, his deception was a stab in the gut, a hit on his pride. He hated the way he was still on his mind, hated the way he’d drop mora off on the stores Zhongli would pass by, making sure Zhongli wouldn’t have to pay for anything in the very likely event he forgot his wallet. Hated the way he stared at the chopsticks that were gifted to him with his own money with longing. Hated how the heavy gazes of the local’s felt just a bit colder without Zhongli by his side. He hated how he still very stupidly cared about the man.
He hated that somewhere in him, he still loved Zhongli, no matter how much it hurt.
Childe sighed as he finally cut through the tension. “Look, you asked me to come here, so I suppose you have something to say.” He levelled a glare at Zhongli. “Unless you made me come here to deliberately waste my time .”
“ I don’t want to be around you for more than necessary, and quite frankly, I don’t think you like how I’m wasting your time.”
Zhongli remained unaffected by Tartaglia’s harsh gaze, his orbs unwavering, still swallowed in the same emotion, in the same expression, in the same glint it had the moment Childe saw them. He cleared his throat. “You are mad at me, that much I am certain of.” He started rather haphazardly, completely ignoring the veiled threats that came with Childe’s stance.
Childe’s lips pressed into a thin line, an obnoxious thought entered his mind as he mockingly bats his lashes. “So did you come here to poke fun at me for it? I didn’t take you as the ty-”
“I would be able to fully explain what I wish to say to you if you let me finish,” Zhongli stated coldly as if losing control over his composure. He watched the way Zhongli silently took a deep breath, the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly once he had once again regained himself.
“I don’t want to dance around this any longer, so I’ll give it to you straight.”
Childe wanted to take pride in the fact he had goaded the archon to this extent, annoyed and nagged him enough to make the archon visibly furious. It was not every day that Childe got to see the geo archon’s true colours, to see carefully perfected and performed self-restraint snapped like twigs under the weight of feet. It was exhilarating to achieve this, to be the cause of such mental grief to someone he had once considered caring for.
Childe wondered if Zhongli was holding back from completely decimating him with a meteor, or if the thought of murdering him where he stood ever passed his mind. Did Zhongli think of ways to punish him? To get revenge on him? Was he ever even in the other’s mind at all, or was he too busy thinking of how he was supposed to live as a mortal? Did Zhongli ever look at Childe and saw him as something more than just a convenience? Did Zhongli only view him as a contract’s fine print?
And as much as Childe’s chest tightened at the thought of meaning absolutely nothing to the man beside him, he knew that he deserved such jarring treatment. In fact, he didn’t even deserve it, this was supposed to be the treatment he received after such an ungratifying ordeal. In the end, they both used each other and both parties got what they wanted. Zhongli gave up his status as the geo archon, turning into a quiet spectator for his beloved nation, learning to live and love amongst them, while Childe somehow managed to fulfil his Tsaritsa’s will, even if the gnosis that La Signora would hand to his majesty was rightfully plotted and stolen by him.
Zhongli continued on. “You are currently angered at me.” He frowned, his brows creasing ever so slightly. “I admit that it took me a while to realise why you were angry at me. I apologise for not realising this sooner. It seems that I still haven’t learned how to properly comprehend these emotions well.” He admitted it with a noncommittal tone, it almost made Childe want to vault towards him. For a god who wanted to learn how to be human, he was doing an awful job at it.
“You seem very confident, Mr Zhongli,” Tartaglia admits as he takes another bite of the popsicle. Heat simmered in his gut, thinly veiled undeserved anger swirling in him. “Do you even know what you want to say to me?” He jeered, hoping his words hit Zhongli in the same way that his deception did. It was petty, and he was aware that he shouldn’t be this mad, but Childe always had a soft spot, always had that very pliable heart underneath sharp edges.
“I do and I don’t…” Zhongli wistfully trailed off, the reluctance in his voice not befitting him. It was wrong to hear that reluctance from him, then again, he might not know Zhongli as much as he thought he did. Maybe he could show vulnerability, and maybe Childe didn’t deserve to see him at such a point. It still did not change the fact that the sheer softness of the man’s voice was utterly vexing.
Childe hummed noncommittally. He decided to goad the man beside him even more. “Never heard you at such a loss for words, Mr Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Mor-”
“What constitutes love, Tartaglia?” Zhongli sputtered out as if not even he himself had expected the words to come from his lips. As if he did not expect such a question when he sat beside Childe, at least a foot apart, by the cliffs of the harbour overlooking the battle-worn glory of Guyun Stone forest in the distance.
“Let’s just go back to being strangers, Mr Zhongli.”
Childe falters for a moment, his dull blues sparking with pained interest. “You’re asking that to me? Mr Zhongli, you must be kidding.” Childe huffed as he took a bite from his popsicle, savouring the cold that seemed to alleviate the tightness in his chest. It stung to be sitting beside Zhongli like this, tension thick with an unanswered question hanging in the air. Their once closeness was nothing but memories amongst the stone that carved the city. Reverting back to honorifics, reverting to formalities at a time where Zhongli allowed such a question to grace his mind.
“I don’t understand…which is why I want to ask you," He admitted, his voice was flat. He remained stony-faced, his wistful gaze reminding Childe that they never were on the same footing.
"Well...what do you feel right now?" Childe swallowed down the lump forming in his throat, he dreaded whatever answer would come from Zhongli’s throat. Would it be hatred? Disgust? Cold indifference?
Or maybe, he dreaded the more positive words to leave Zhongli’s mouth.
The man closed his eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I feel...joy,” He began with uncertainty, bangs shielding his closed lids. In the year he had known Zhongli, this was the first time he had faltered, stuttered on his words as it all slipped from his tongue. It was raw, painted with confusion yet honesty, not understanding the weight of his words.
“This contract...you deem this beneficial?”
Childe does not dismiss Zhongli, the latter taking it as the cue to continue. “I feel the lingering want to...stay like this, even if it’s just for another moment, I want to allow myself this much, to be selfish and take.” He lowered his head, looking at his lap, his hands remained on the creased fabric of his slacks. “Yet I also find myself hesitating because I do not wish to push myself towards you any further. I am imposing, that much I am certain, and I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“In fact, I have all the reason to believe that you are feeling discomfort at my words, I apologise for this, and the words that will follow soon after.” Childe felt himself freeze in place as if Zhongli had petrified him. As if he could feel the god’s selfishness and desires through words alone. As if their distance did nothing to further accentuate the sheer honesty that came with Zhongli’s words.
Honesty. When Childe found out that Zhongli was the Geo Archon, he no longer associated Zhongli with anything honest. He was a schemer, a strategist, and Childe could respect that about him. His duty-bound self respected Morax’s dishonesty, his butthurt self was only enraged at Zhongli. He could no longer find a hint of anything genuine from the elusive funeral parlour consultant. Yet here he was, listening to him wax poetic about his true feelings, not ones veiled beneath deceit and trickery, but ones of a newly seemingly mortal man learning to love.
“There are instances where I long for your warmth, an embrace, a caress, the ability to feel your radiance on my skin.” He admitted sheepishly, his gaze never falling on Childe. “There are instances where I look at depictions of narwhal’s and great warrior’s and find my mind wandering back to you. “Would Chil-Tartaglia like this?” “Would he wish to hear this story?” “If I agreed to spar with him, would his eyes glow a bit brighter?” I found myself inevitably returning to you, like a magnet attracted to its opposite.”
Childe could feel his resolve crumble.
“Yet I hesitate, for I do not know what name to give this feeling. I do not know what to call the lingering want to call for you when you leave. I do not know what to call the ache in my chest at the thought of your departure. I do not know what to call the unwarranted venomous jealousy that bubbles at me when I see you with someone else. I do not know if what I’m feeling is love...or if I am simply feeling guilty about how I had, inevitably, hurt you with my own selfishness.” Zhongli finally turned to look at him, yet his eyes seemed to never stare at Childe in the way he thought they would. It did not emanate the same decadent golden glow, it no longer held the timelessness it had reflected time and time again. For once, Childe could read his eyes.
His eyes were simply in love.
"That..." was love. It did, Childe realised as the tightness in his throat felt unbearable, his ears ringing. How was it that words could render him frozen, his world seemingly frozen in place? How was it that the man had yet again floored him in a way he could not run from? When would this waltz between them end? Will it ever? Did he want it to end? He released a rather shaky sigh. "I'm sure you realise it now, Mr Zhongli."
"Ah," He muttered mutely, seemingly floored by that revelation. He looked away from Childe as if he knew that he could read him like an open book for once in his life. Childe knew that Zhongli could feel his gaze glare holes into his back, could feel the way his gaze flitted between staring at the man’s back, to the man’s cheek.
“I get out of your hair, you get out of mine. I think you’ve tugged at my heartstrings long enough, no?”
"Well then...it seems I am too late." Zhongli began again, his voice seemed to return to his unshakable timbre. Not a quiver or a shake from him, only pure admittance. "I must apologise," He returned his gaze to Childe. His eyes glistening, glossed over with unbridled emotions, his lashes curled in a way that seemed to shield his bright orbs. Childe froze in place. "If only I had been quicker to realise these complex emotions, then maybe we wouldn't have to revert to mere strangers." He admitted.
Childe wanted to hate him for this, for allowing this to come to this point, for allowing these feelings to tug at him, for the desire to stay in Liyue, to try and mend this. There were so many words he wanted to say, but he knew that each one wouldn't be enough to convey what he wanted to say. He abhorred his duty-bound, ever loyal self, for allowing things to reach such a point. He detested himself for letting his personal feelings interfere with work. "Xiansheng-"
"After all, you no longer love me as I love you."
Childe should have protested. He should have, for what left Zhongli's lips were but another assumption, another menial observation that the geo archon would've picked up from his distant exterior. That he truly did wish to rebuild the bridge he had burnt himself, that he wished to let their paths intertwine once more, even for just a moment.
"You're right."
Instead, Childe bitterly spat another lie.
Childe watched Zhongli’s breath hitch, he watched the way his eyes begin to melt into the very same gold he saw that day when he harshly parted ways with the man, he watched his face morph into one of indifference as if the man had finally come to peace with it. Childe will finally get the detested heated gaze he deserved from the god whom he tried to fool. Tartaglia would finally be on the receiving end of a god’s subdued smite. Ajax would have another pair of eyes to be horrified of at night.
And then his breath hitched as Zhongli’s lips quirk into a small, horribly masked, smile.
“I must apologise then, Tartaglia, I have broken our promise. From henceforth I shall uphold it in reverence.” He bowed his head towards Childe, the fringes of his neatly tied hair continuing to shield his face from Childe’s view. “As you have requested moons ago, I shall no longer involve myself with you. I shall no longer refer to you in any way other than your official title. I shall no longer pester you, nor ask for your assistance, for we are but strangers. P-people whose paths once intersected, and now no m-more.” Zhongli’s voice quivered, shaking ever so slightly as his head remained lowered.
“Xiangsheng-”
“You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life. You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice. The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend, the frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again. I believe this is how promises are kept in Snezhnayan customs.” Zhongli took Childe’s hand in his own, interlocking his pinkie with his.
His touch lingers on Childe’s fingers, his gaze places its weight on his soul. Childe found himself hesitating to move ––since when was he capable of such? Was this truly how his time in Liyue will end? He should say something, about how this was just another string of horrendous misunderstandings, of how they could salvage this if they just saw eye to eye for once, of how Childe did love and continued loving.
He continues to hesitate. “You got it right Mr Zhongli, your memory is impeccable.”
There is silence that follows soon after, the two stuck like this. The popsicle in Childe’s hands had been long forgotten, melted on the ground beside him. Zhongli does not look up, and Childe does not let go. He needed Zhongli to leave, yet he wanted him to stay. Childe releases a shaky breath. He was used to his wants never becoming reality.
“Mr Zhongli…” Childe detaches himself first, slipping his pinkie away from the former’s. “I still have to double-check the ship at the wharf...” He placed his hands on his laps, taking the fabric of his pants and curling them into his fingers.
Zhongli looks up, his eyes glisten, his farce smile remains. “ Very well then, ” Zhongli slowly gets up on his feet, his reluctance evident in every fleeting step. He rose to his full height, dusting himself off. He grabbed the bag he had left on the ground.
His golden orbs are more intense than the blazing heat Liyue had offered today. Tartaglia’s world had been diminished to a pair of glistening, glowing, glassy amber eyes. “ I bid you farewell, Tartaglia. ” Zhongli does not make his voice tremble, simply masking it beneath the timbre of his voice and the intensity of his gaze.
Childe is left frozen as he watches Zhongli’s figure disappear beneath cliffs and mountains moulded by his very hands. He does not try to reach for Zhongli’s retreating figures, he does not grab him by the shoulder in an effort to explain his true feelings, he does not yell after him to stop, he does not run after him. He is simply glued in place, petrified.
When Zhongli is fully out of view, Tartaglia screams.
The wharf is seemingly empty. There is no one to hug goodbye, no one to bid farewell, no one to hurriedly rush at them, begging for them to stay. No one in Liyue wanted to wish the Fatui a safe journey at the mercy of the sea, no one in Liyue would miss them, no one in Liyue cared. Good riddance to the Fatui, the city sang as the ship’s final call sounded through the empty dock.
But the man clad in black does not escape Childe’s vision.
Even from afar, Zhongli was unmistakable. Only his amber eyes could glow with such ferocity, only he could wear that coat without breaking a sweat, only he could elegantly walk with such grace in each step. His amber eyes were looking at the ship, at the sails that proudly displayed the Fatui’s insignia, of the artillery that adorned the glorious vessel.
His amber eyes were looking at him.
Childe ran a hand through his hair. Frustration gnawed at him as he observed the man from afar. He watched the man staring back at him, yet he could not tell what expression plagues those eyes, not from this distance, not when they were already world’s apart. Zhongli belonged to Liyue, he belonged to Snezhnaya, which was simply fate.
He felt the ship jolt alive as it slowly set sail. He watched the man in front of him staring at the ship, he hoped that Zhongli felt exasperated, felt frustrated that things were out of his control. He hoped that Zhongli left the docks the moment it had taken off. He selfishly hoped that a part of Zhongli thought about him.
He watched the man bring a sleeve up to wipe his face. He watched the man seemingly regain his composure, standing still as the waves hit beneath the stone of which he stood. He bowed towards the ship, towards Tartaglia. Tartaglia wondered if the nod he had responded with was perceptible to Zhongli’s eyes.
He turned around and entered back into his quarters, no longer wishing to look over the balcony, fearing for amber eyes and a bowed figure may be the only thing that’ll plague his mind. Fearing that the image of a composed man rubbing his face with his sleeves would be what accompanied his thoughts of his time at the harbour.
“Good riddance to you too, Mr Zhongli.”
Such horrible, horrible lies his words were.