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Tartaglia is exceptional in all things - Zhongli knows this from the first moment they meet, introduced as a matter of course when the young Harbinger is sent to the Wangsheng funeral parlor to arrange for the disposal of certain bodies who, while alive, had met with the lasting disdain of the Fatui. It’s not a chance meeting by any means. Zhongli is well aware of the combative proclivities of the Tsaritsa’s youngest Harbinger, and it is a small part of the reason why he had chosen his mortal career to be an arcane consultant for the funeral parlor. And given the regular meetings to discuss funeral rites for the fallen Fatui, Treasure Hoarders, and rare civilians that the ginger man slays or comes across while roaming the Liyuean countryside, Zhongli finds he has the opportunity to truly evaluate the young fox.
It’s a rare thing, that first impressions prove right. But Tartaglia manages to be one of those extraordinary cases that exceeds even a glowing first impression.
The wonderful play that Tartaglia puts on to obscure his intentions of freeing Osial and seizing the stone heart of a god hides his loquacious nature - at first. Sure, the young fox speaks, but his words are calculated warmth, the twinkling of his blue eyes and smooth twitching of his furry orange ears all a perfectly-crafted disguise that makes him look attentive. It’s a front that Zhongli is well-used to seeing, spotting it wryly whenever he’s summoned to lecture at the parlor or invited to speak on the historical implications of an archaeological find that the Adventurer’s Guild has dug out of some forgotten ditch in Nantianmen. He knows he can be long-winded - in fact, he almost counts on it at times, counts on the nuance necessary to explain the esoteric knowledge locked away in his memory to dissuade the many schemers and treasure hunters that seek him out to try and glean useful information from him.
They too fake a practiced smile out of courtesy. But on Tartaglia…
On Tartaglia, that false smile eventually fades away.
Questions. Commentary. For one of the first times since Guizhong’s death and Retuo’s fall, Zhongli’s monologues on Liyuean history have become a proper discussion again. Instead of lecturing, he is conversing - and the Harbinger’s quick wit and keen intellect only shimmer more brightly every time his input causes Zhongli to pause. That shallow relationship between them deepens, and he’s elated by the development, the purr of something warmer than friendship beginning to heat the cool stone of his heart. And yet- the young fox only gets more talkative from there. Tartaglia is a shockingly adept conversationalist, excitable and animated, narrating the tales of his own exploits in Snezhnaya and the furthest reaches of Liyue. His tail twitches alongside wild hand gestures, ears swiveling around as if to catch each tiny laugh or cough that leaves Zhongli’s lips, his blue eyes shimmering brightly whenever he manages to catch a smile or fond eye-roll.
And even after Osial - even after the near-month of silence that had followed on Tartaglia’s end, after their weekly meetings resume and the Qixing have crafted a neat set of rules to pinion the young Harbinger’s activities while he remains in Liyue - even after that, they still trade stories. Zhongli does not have to nurse dozens of cups of tea in a row just to keep his throat clear so he can continue to speak - instead, he is allowed to listen, to sit silent and watch as Childe rambles on and on about the stupidity of the Millelith, the drudgery of paperwork, or even things as mundane as the latest recipes he’d tried his hand at cooking.
It’s more than charming, and Zhongli finds himself entirely too far gone to care about how easily he’s been charmed.
Thus, it comes as quite a surprise when one day, he overhears a conversation between Hu Tao and the Ferrylady, both complaining about how quiet the fox Harbinger is. They call him sullen, brooding, even menacing - and with each word that comes out of the Ferrylady’s mouth, he feels more and more confused. Hu Tao’s complaints are a little better - mainly, her concern with Tartaglia is his lack of detail when placing funeral requests - but even so, the contrast jars him. The peppy, chatterbox Childe he knows is quite different from the taciturn Tartaglia that they speak of, and absently, he wonders if this might not just be another mask to extract information more easily. For what other reason could there be for Tartaglia to remain in Liyue, with the god who had betrayed his trust even before he’d stepped foot into the harbor?
There’s an audible crack at the thought - the sound of stone breaking.
Not long after that overheard conversation, Tartaglia shows up at the doors of the Wangsheng funeral parlor with a bright grin, full of sharp white teeth, a blade of pure Hydro loosely forming and re-forming over and over in his hands. It’s little more than a warning for most people, a sign that the Eleventh Harbinger of her Majesty the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya is waiting for a reason to shed blood in his Archon’s name. But to Zhongli it means something different - that perhaps, just perhaps, the young fox is anxious. Of course, the twitching orange bush of his tail also gives him away, a sign so obvious that Zhongli finds himself drawn toward offering comfort. So he emerges from the dusty corner of his office and steps into the main lobby of the building, watching with surprise as Hu Tao argues with the ginger man, a wide grin on her face.
“No, I will not deliver your- Ah, Zhongli-xiansheng, good timing!”
If it did not have his stomach coiling in knots, the sight of that familiar face suddenly turning a chalky shade of sick-sweetflower might have been slightly amusing. As it is, Zhongli finds that it sends anxiety pooling in the pit of his stomach too, a strange fluttering almost like butterflies gathering in the center of his chest, his warm stone heart creaking in protest. Hu Tao looks between them both, her grin widening quickly into a leer of mischief. It’s a devastatingly worrisome grin - one which Zhongli has seen all too many times before.
“Ah- Tartaglia,” he greets hurriedly, trying to ignore the look his boss is giving him even as the young fox’s ears flick backward, briefly sliding into either aggression, fear, or some unholy mixture of both. “What brings you here today?”
For a long moment, there is a pause. Hu Tao sits blessedly silent, though her unsettling smile is still painted across her round cheeks. And then, chalk-white fading into a lovely shade of rosy health, Tartaglia lifts his free hand to reveal that he is also carrying a cloth-wrapped box. It’s this that he gives to Zhongli, nearly holding his breath as he watches the package settle in gloved hands. There’s a pleasant warmth to the box, Zhongli notes absently, peering curiously at it as the young fox lets it go, his bushy tail flicking violently behind him.
“I made you lunch, since I know you’d probably forgotten yours again. It’s my specialty, minus the seafood,” he says hurriedly, as if the words are embarrassing. The wagging tail does not stop, a kind of trepidation hovering in those blue eyes. Zhongli blinks, startled.
“...Thank you, Tartaglia,” he says, astonished by how well his companion has come to know him. “I have indeed forgotten my own again. I am sure I’ll enjoy this - I truly appreciate your kindness.”
It’s like lighting a lantern - with that one sentence, the anxiety completely bleeds away from Tartaglia’s expression, a roaring delight spreading across his face, and suddenly Zhongli realizes that the tail wagging is just that - actually wagging. It’s baffling - what on earth has he done to cause this? But he does not get the chance to ask, because not even a moment later, Tartaglia is skipping towards the door, Hydro blade dissolving, a few cheery yips escaping him as he throws the doors wide open.
“I really hope you like it!” he bubbles. “Oh, but tell me if you don’t! I’ll make you something different tomorrow.”
And then he’s gone. Zhongli stares into the sunshine after him, puzzled, and as Hu Tao explodes into laughter beside him all he can do is manage a stern frown as he returns to his office, unwraps the bowl of soup, and tucks in. It’s delicious.
Tartaglia doesn’t seem to believe him when he brings it up, but now that he knows what to look for, he can see the comment perk those pointed ears right up. And it seems to start a chain reaction, unlocking a new routine in their lives. For the rest of the week after that, the young fox brings him lunch, each meal a new dish cooked from scratch, and it doesn’t stop there. The week of home-cooked meals becomes two, and then a month, then two months. It would be nearly uncomfortable, if there wasn’t one key factor keeping him from rejecting the ginger man’s kindness. And that was the simple fact that every time he accepted the gifted meals, Tartaglia’s smile grew so bright that it nearly melted Zhongli’s stone heart entirely.
It is an impossible combination to defend against, and it only grows more deadly and complex as time passes. Eventually, Tartaglia begins coming over in the evening to make him dinner as well, and they sit and talk around the dining table until Zhongli realizes how low the lamps have burned and how dark it’s grown outside. By then of course it’s too late to send the other man home, and when it starts happening every other day, Zhongli just sighs and begins keeping a small drawer at his apartment for spare Fatui uniforms or Tartaglia’s casual clothes.
The warmth heating his stone heart only grows hotter, stronger, brighter. They sit on the couch in the dead of night until they both feel the need to sleep, closer than they ever have been, Zhongli’s legs lying across the other man’s lap, a long lock of his dark hair pressed to the fox’s upper lip. When they go to bed, Tartaglia takes the couch at first, but after the first full week Zhongli can’t bear it, and they both sleep curled on the same mattress, and Tartaglia, his voice little more than a murmur, whispers “Call me Ajax?” When they wake in the morning, Zhongli rushes to the kitchen and makes breakfast for two, determined to spoil Ajax the way he’s been spoiled for the past two months, and he returns to find Ajax stealing his pillow, inhaling the scent of the natural mineral musk that clings to him. And before long he swears he can smell the fox’s soft cologne on every surface, playful spice a soothing reminder of his constant presence. It would almost remind him of courting - and yet he had not once been asked on a date, not once been kissed.
How strange. And painful.
The Traveler finds him after Ajax has been living with him for three months, her golden gaze remarkably irritated, but she smiles at him nonetheless and sits down on the bench in the corner of his office. Paimon is nowhere to be found - odd, but then again, it is almost lunch time. After a brief moment of awkward silence, the only sound his pen scratching over paper, she sighs.
“Zhongli-xiansheng, can I ask you something?”
He blinks at her, then nods and sets aside the treatise that he’s been working on - a short thing memorializing Skybracer’s sacrifice to save Liyue. He’s almost done with it’s twenty-first page.
“Of course, Lumine,” he replies, smiling back at her. She stares at him flatly for one moment, then slams her head back against the wall.
“Could you…tell me what the courting habits of a red fox are?”
He pauses, completely thrown by the question. What brought this on? He wonders absently, pinning her under a sharp glare for a long moment. But her challenging huff doesn’t fade away, only stiffens in that stubborn way of hers, and so he relents.
“Well, there are a couple of common signs,” he begins, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “For one, foxes are usually quite a bit chattier during their mating season - they’re much more likely to bark at potential partners to catch their attention.”
Lumine nods, and he watches with consternation as one of her fingers ticks down, as if in a countdown.
“...they’re also very prone to scenting habits - both male and female foxes will scent-mark excessively if they’re unpaired, and males especially will make it their business to investigate every trace a potential mate leaves,” he says, nonplussed. Lumine nods again.
“Like how Childe sprays his cologne on your clothes?” she asks, blinking innocently. A sudden thrill of shock ripples through him, and before he realizes his own actions he’s taken a deep breath to inhale the scent of his surroundings- and she’s right. He smells of Ajax again. Warmth spreads to his face.
“I…suppose?” he chokes out, and Lumine’s smile suddenly turns gleeful, but she just puts another finger down and gestures for him to continue. Outside his office, the doors of the main lobby creak loudly.
“Anything else, Zhongli?” she hums. He tries to reorient himself, gripping the edge of his desk as if that will help at all.
“Well, yes. Red foxes are also known for courting with resources, assisting potential mates in finding a den or…or food…”
And like clockwork, Ajax bursts into his office with a cheerful grin, white-tipped tail flicking across the doorframe. In the corner of his office, Lumine’s gleeful grin only widens by a couple teeth.
“Hello xiansheng, I brought you lunch again!” he yips, ears twitching. And then he pauses, takes in Lumine’s shit-eating grin and Zhongli’s frozen silence. Suddenly his ears go flat against his head, blue eyes widening in horror.
“Lumine!” he screeches. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything!”
She laughs in his face, skipping out of reach- and never before has Zhongli been more grateful to a person. Because as Ajax lunges for her, his face redder than a Pyro Vision, Zhongli is able to step in and catch him, snarling his hands in the grey uniform and yanking. And it’s a messy first kiss. Their teeth clack clumsily, and for a moment Ajax stands rigid, shocked. But just as the warmth burning in Zhongli’s chest begins to seep into cold reality, Ajax growls softly and kisses him back. Fangs graze gently against his bottom lip, the taste of Ajax’s mouth on his igniting the beating heart of his mortal body.
It’s real. It was all real.
And the stone shell holding his heart finally shatters.