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Zhongli knew he would need to create a magnum opus to be a famed and respectable artist.

His previous works for his college classes were not enough. They were not good, stunning, or perfect to even be considered artwork. Sculpting was supposed to be his passion, his driving force. Not a hobby where he can’t even get shit right. 

He can’t be a renowned sculptor if all he made were objects, no matter the size. 

Zhongli needed something magnificent. Attention-grabbing. Just as beautiful as Michelangelo’s or Donatello’s previous works but better .

The dark-haired man decided to devote his time to creating his magnum opus, no matter what sacrifices he’ll make. The only issue now was what he wanted to fabricate.

Creating a sculpture of a human has always been difficult for everyone. Studying anatomy, posing, and the like was enough for everyone else to back out from projects regarding human subjects but never Zhongli.

A human would be his muse, carved from the highest quality of marble. It is what his magnum opus deserves, after all.

Next, who his muse would be. There were many muses he could choose from, but they needed to be remarkable. A subject close to his heart. Enough for the viewer and the artist to form a connection through his art. 

Family and friends were immediately out of the picture, though he thought a bit too hard whether he should make himself his muse. It was a good idea, Zhongli first thought, though trying to sculpt himself would be taxing. Not to mention, it was not unique enough.

“Choose something you would want to see come to life.”

Zhongli lay awake in his bed after a tiring day of brainstorming ideas one night. It proved to be fruitless. He was suffering from an art block. Even inspiration from the internet and his daily life gave him no ideas . They were boring, typical, or just had no story to tell. 

He needed his art to captivate onlookers, tell a story with a still motion, and ignite a wave of emotions in those who looked at it underneath.

Now, Zhongli never really bothered in romantic relationships anymore. He had dated in the past, some lasted a few years, but all of it led to mutual break-ups. The time changed. He no longer bothered, though these were the moments when he wished he could have someone to talk to about his problems. It would have been easier if he had a partner to help him. Or a partner whom he could choose as his muse. 

He simply could not find the time to date anymore. His passion and other responsibilities kept him too preoccupied.

“Or maybe your type just changed,” his friend teased him upon telling him his problem. “And that’s okay, you know. You’ll find someone who fits your luxurious taste!”

A type? Zhongli believes he doesn’t have one. 

He would fall in love with anyone as long as they managed to capture his heart. 

But maybe he does have a type. 

From looks to personality, it was almost as if he wanted a specific person, not someone who just fits what he needed in a partner.

Maybe he does.

Zhongli’s thoughts turned to sudden ideas for his next artwork. Ideas kept coming in, keeping him buzzed and on adrenaline that he couldn’t stop himself from starting the project late at night. 

Those ideas were flawless and exquisite, and he wouldn’t let them be disregarded in his mind the next day. 

Zhongli spent his time sketching and drawing until the sun rose, peeking behind the clouds with pinkish and orange tints. It was a bad idea to do so—as he had to meet with friends for lunch later—but all those hours he wasted were successful. 

He got the anatomy, the pose, and the details ready. All Zhongli needed to do was craft it.

With a block of marble that towered over him, newly bought tools, and a teapot full of his favorite tea at hand, Zhongli began working. He knew this project would take so much time and effort, so he had to prepare himself—take a breather as much as possible while working—and sleep when he could no longer keep his eyes open. 

It was impossible for other people to just take breaks easily, of course, but Zhongli wanted this project to be a success. If he needed to take breaks and sleep, he was willing to waste his time doing those instead. 

His magnum opus must be the definition of perfection.

Zhongli needed to be focused because one mistake could ruin the entire piece. 

And marble is not that easy to procure. 

The project took months to finish. Zhongli’s friends would laugh and claim that he was a little too attached to his art, though understandable as he was sculpting what his ideal lover looked like in the first place. 

“Don’t fall in love with it now!” one joked, a light punch following soon after. “We don't want you crying over a sculpture that can’t be real.” 

Though, if he does , who could blame him?

Zhongli has always been artistic and creative. His many talents rely on art, sculpting especially, so it was not a surprise that his art would turn out captivating to his eyes and others. Not only art-wise but in general .

The dark-haired man sculpted his soulmate, his partner whom he would love until the end of time. No matter the universe, the beginning, and the endgame. 

He would have the fluffiest and messiest hair where one could feel the touch of a cloud. Gentle and soft, silks that thread through his fingers naturally.

Zhongli knows that art often speaks through its eyes, so he made his own did. Beautiful, ocean eyes that lost their shine, yet it still tells the past and history of the muse. No matter how tragic and terrifying it may be.

The sculpture had beautiful, plump lips. The lips would be perfect for kissing every part of Zhongli’s body and uttering words of poetry and stories. 

And maybe, just maybe, Zhongli kissed the sculpture to try and see if their lips would fit—it did—but no one needs to know that.

He held the statue’s face in his, his hands almost covering its face entirely, and he imagined how the other would laugh under his touch, telling the artist how his big hands fit with his small ones.

Body littered with freckles, each one Zhongli would kiss and appreciate, with his calloused fingers tracing each star to form a newly discovered constellation. 

Zhongli’s sculpture would be flawless and beautiful but the history he imagined his muse to have, a nameless man still, would be far from perfect. The definition of a man who fought hard to continue living, a man who had to endure all of the torture and war he did not ask for, only to emerge victorious.  

No, his muse was far from perfect. In Zhongli’s eyes, however, he was beautiful. 

As beautiful and imperfect as the naturality of the world. How the flowers bloom and die, the waves rushing out of the ocean beautiful yet disastrous, and the trees swaying in the wind whether it is caused by a storm or not. 

From then on, Zhongli decided that his name would be Ajax.

It suits him.

When Zhongli finished his artwork, he finally noticed how unorthodox it was; making a sculpture of his dream lover. Was he that lonely to create someone who would cater to his needs and wants through the form of arts? He described every intimate thing of the muse’s body and what he would do as if they were alive and with him.

Pathetic. 

But Zhongli was too tired to care. He was sleep-deprived and lacked proper meals in his body. He was only glad he finished his supposed magnum opus and was satisfied with what he sculpted.

So, with sore arms and an aching back, Zhongli finally fell asleep in the comfort of his bedroom for the first time in months.

The artist noticed that he had slumbered for 15 hours by the time he woke. Zhongli was not surprised, considering he had worked on that project for a month and a half while running on tea, snacks, and a few hours of sleep. Even though he felt that the hours of sleep were not enough, the man felt strangely refreshed. He could choose to sleep again later but for now, his stomach was dying to eat a home-cooked meal.

It was afternoon by the time Zhongli got out of bed. The blazing sun scorched up in the cloudless sky, the light swimming inside his home like a pool of warm gold. 

With the project's weight off his shoulder, Zhongli could breathe again and appreciate every small yet beautiful thing in life. Such as a good meal and a cup of tea.

I should probably check the sculpture later . The man thought as he descended the stairs, his footsteps echoing off the walls. It has always been quiet in Zhongli’s home.

He made his way to the kitchen, thinking of his favorite meal that he was suddenly craving. He passed his art room, where he displayed all his artworks. Strange, didn’t he close the door yesterday?

Shrugging, Zhongli opted to close the door and continue with his day, though the sound of soft footsteps on the wooden floorboard inside caught his attention.

He stood by the doorframe, hidden just in case it was a burglar. It was quiet but Zhongli’s heart thumped as if it wanted to leave his body completely out of fear. 

Locking the doors was a routine for Zhongli every night, so how did an intruder get in? Was he so tired and sleepy that he thought the doors were locked?

Zhongli listened in, and he could hear the same footsteps inside. It was soft and slow. If it was someone who wanted to steal from him, wouldn’t their footwork be fast and uncoordinated? Surely they did not think Zhongli would be gone or asleep forever if they were taking their sweet, sweet time.

Taking a deep breath, Zhongli peeked in from the doorframe, his heart continuing to pump and rush blood in his head.

The art room still looked the same, except for his missing magnum opus in the corner.

But instead, there was a naked man inside.

Zhongli doesn’t even fucking know who this man was and why he was naked in his own home.

The stranger was breathtaking. Well-sculpted nose, full pink lips, and striking blue eyes you could never see from anyone else. If he was not an undressed stranger, Zhongli would have developed a crush on him. 

He had thick ginger hair, messy and soft-looking from afar. His hair fell over his electrifying sapphire hues, bright yet dull at the same time. Freckles littered his defined back and all over his body (Zhongli noted when he had turned around). He seemed unaware that he was now looking at him out of confusion, fear, and admiration, the artist’s attention was solely on his face.

It was hard to do so, considering he was bare and Zhongli’s eyes kept going down there .

Even though Zhongli was standing by the door now, arms crossed and alert in case it was a serial killer ready to feature him in a true crime documentary, the man remained unsuspecting of his presence. He wondered if there was just something wrong with him, though it still posed a question. How did he get in? Not to mention, his statue was still missing.

“Excuse me? How did you get in?” well, how could his questions be answered if he decides to keep quiet. It caught the man’s attention, eyes wide and his lips parted into a gasp. 

“Ah!” he squealed, surprised but soon regained his sanity. The stranger went quiet after, though his feet led him in front of Zhongli. 

Frozen, the two could only stand there in shock, staring into each other’s golden and oceanic hues. 

“W-What are you—”

“It’s you!”

The stranger’s hands were on his cheeks, thumb smoothing over his skin as if he had done it thousands of times before. Zhongli’s heart ached at his touch. He should be terrified, push him off for touching him so intimately, but he couldn’t . 

This man, still nude, caressed him so carefully as if he was a fine china tea set. 

How could his touch be so cold and warm at the same time? It brought him the feeling of home and comfort but also chilling shivers that sent goosebumps rising on his skin.

How could a stranger give him such complicated feelings?

The latter noted Zhongli’s confusion; his lips tugged downwards with his eyebrows scrunched together. 

The stranger, bright and preppy even with Zhongli’s expression, squished his cheeks together as if they were close friends. “You… I saw you in my dreams before,” he whispered wistfully, “You created me.”

“I what? Sir, you are at my house. I suggest you leave before we get the cops involved—” 

“I am Ajax!”

The man—Ajax—admitted in a panic. His hands were now gripping his shoulders, set on making him believe in case the dark-haired artist decided to laugh at his face and push him away. “Please,” Ajax muttered in slight fear, “Believe me. You sculpted me, did you not? I remember you. You plagued my thoughts day and night.”

Zhongli’s eyes watched his hands as they went to grip his own, running his smooth fingers all over his calloused ones. “You feel just the same,” Ajax brought Zhongli’s hands to cup his cheeks. “See?”

Laugh. Zhongli wanted to laugh and follow through with his threat earlier, but he did not have the guts to do so. 

His attention was solely on how Ajax, his magnum opus, was alive. 

There was no other explanation.

He cradled the latter’s cheeks in his hands; the way it fit was strikingly familiar when he sculpted him when he was a block of marble. 

The more Zhongli admired his face, the more he realized that the resemblance was uncanny. He noted every detail of Ajax’s features, features that he made sure to add when he was sculpting. From his eyes to his entire body. What he carved into that high-quality marble was now a living being in front of him, but a beautiful masterpiece still.

What now?

Zhongli almost wanted to laugh and go back to sleep. Was he this tired to start dreaming that his sculpture, the man of his dreams, suddenly became alive for some reason? He wanted nothing more but to kick this man out, get him some mental help if needed, and continue his day like normal.

His eyes, however, drifted to the empty place where his statue once was before landing back on Ajax. 

Taking a deep breath, Zhongli dug his fingers onto his palms, hard enough to hurt him and jerk him fully into consciousness (even if he already was with the whole situation).

Ajax’s hands were still on his cheeks, eyes scanning his face as if memorizing his face and watching him intently. To be under his stare was strange and uncomfortable, but Zhongli couldn’t do anything. It was comforting in a sense.

After a few minutes of silence between the two, Zhongli spoke again. “You need some clothes,” he said quietly, “Come and follow me.”

Ajax knew nothing else but that he was once a statue, created by Zhongli.

He didn’t seem to know much about humanity and their life, asking many questions about many things that even Zhongli couldn’t give a simple explanation. It was strange how he managed to stay patient and calm, though why would he blame a being’s natural curiosity?

Once he was fully dressed, wherein the latter proceeded to smell it and snuggle into the clothing as much as possible, Zhongli decided that he would pester him with questions next.

“Do you know how you are… alive?” Zhongli questioned, cautious of his words. Ajax already knew that he was supposed to be a work of the artist, a fact that he seemed to take rather well. 

The latter shook his head, frowning. “No… I just remembered your face, darkness, and then I was looking at your other artworks.” he explained, “Which are pretty, by the way. They’re the same as me, right? Sculptures. You make them beautifully.”

The artist smiled at the compliment, “Thank you, Ajax.”

His name rolled off Zhongli’s tongue smoothly, perhaps another factor when he named him other than Ajax being his favorite Greek hero. “I suppose we are at a loss. Everything feels like a weird fever dream, yet all of this is real.” Zhongli had pinched, bit, and slapped himself to see if all of it was a figment of his imagination.

It was not, and it still left his questions unanswered. 

“Why did you sculpt me?” Ajax questioned, his words lingering in the tense yet calm atmosphere.

Zhongli thought about it at first. He had a reason, and Ajax already knew it, though he knew that the latter was about something else.

Why did you sculpt me like this ?

“I wanted a magnum opus,” the dark-haired artist finally answered after a few seconds, “I had no muse to base you off. I,” Zhongli paused, “I wanted to sculpt my soulmate.” 

The silence was so thick that even a knife couldn’t cut it. Zhongli’s confession rendered Ajax speechless, his cheeks lightly dusted in red. The artist’s ears as well, his eyes suddenly trained on the oh-so-interesting ground. 

God, why would he even admit that? Ajax did not need to know why . He would have to stay with him indefinitely until they learn what happened, but now he ruined their odd friendship with the truth.

Would Ajax think he was an idiot or a creep? No, obviously.  

“You… want your soulmate to look like me?” Ajax asked, his voice stand-offish, quiet, and almost high-pitched in embarrassment. His eyes were trained on the artist, determined and courageous that Zhongli couldn’t even look him straight in the eye.

His throat dried up, and his heart was as loud as the thunder when storms fell over the city. Why was Zhongli so nervous? Ajax was sculpted by his own hands, suddenly gifted with life just like Pygmalion and Galatea.

“...Yes, I suppose you could say it like that.” he tried to find a better phrase to describe it, “It is more like… you,” he gestured towards his entire being, “are what I want in a soulmate, you could say. The looks, personality…” he drifted off before coughing, embarrassed once more. “You get the point.”

And Ajax, sweet darling Ajax, mumbled, “So, I am your soulmate then?”

Yes, Zhongli wanted to reply, but he was too embarrassed and shy. 

Ajax, when he was a statue, was the man he wanted to be his soulmate. But now that he was alive with thoughts and feelings like a sentient being, it was conflicting. He did not expect him to be alive. It wasn’t part of his plan when he was sculpting him (not that it ever would) so he could not answer him straight in his face.

Zhongli’s warm eyes skimmed around the room, looking for an answer, before gulping down his nerves as he faced Ajax again.

“Yes.” his voice did not waver, “But all of this is still confusing… Let’s give it time.”

Was that even the correct answer? Zhongli did not know. He did not care anymore. Ajax is the man he pictured his soulmate to be, and now that he was here, exactly like he dreamed of, would he pass up the opportunity to be with him?

Just give it time, he told himself. Even if he was the man of his dreams, he wanted to take it slow. 

After everything that just happened? With his sculpture coming to life? He needed time to process that he was real, that this would be his life. He wasn’t complaining, far from it.

Ajax seemed to understand what Zhongli meant, slowly nodding. His eyes, however, did not lose that sparkle of interest. He was quiet, fidgeting and playing with the hem of his clothes. It fits him, Zhongli noted, and he looked adorable in the artist’s clothes. Perhaps Zhongli should just let him use his clothes from now on.

“Ajax, is there something you want to say?” the dark-haired man questioned softly. His fidgeting meant he wanted to say something but was too shy to do so, so he took the initiative. If he was uncomfortable about something or just wanted something to share, Zhongli would listen. 

With a deep breath, his piercing eyes landed on Zhongli’s golden hues instead. His eyebrows were furrowed, determined, and his lips trembled as he spoke. He did not cry, however, but he was embarrassed.

“I-I… Uhm, can we kiss?” 

That was not what the latter was expecting.

The tip of his ears turned red in embarrassment, shock written all over his face. He did not expect Ajax could be so outright and confident with what he wanted, though it was a good personality to have. Zhongli coughed, speechless, before scratching his cheek bashfully.

Zhongli’s eyes darted to the ground once more. “Why do you ask?” the artist wondered. How hypocritical of him to even consider kissing him when he told the latter that they should take it slow first, and yet here they are.

Very, very hypocritical.

“Because…” the man paused a bit before standing up, choosing to sit beside Zhongli. God, he hoped he couldn’t hear the way his heart scratched at his chest. The artist blinked and removed his gaze to the floor, an eyebrow cocked in confusion. “I… want to do it again.”

Again ?

“We- You did it before, didn’t you?” Ajax’s voice was quiet as if he was shy despite his confidence. “Can we do it again? Please?”

Zhongli’s red hue traveled down to his neck as he coughed, taken aback by his request. “That was… Ah…” he was left inarticulate. He did not know what to say, but it was neither a yes nor a no. 

Deep inside, even if Zhongli laughs at himself for his absurdity, he wanted to.

His common sense was stopping him. Even if everything else was almost like a funny dream he couldn’t wake up from. If he was going to build a relationship with the man of his dreams, he wanted to treat it like his previous relationships. 

Go on dates and get to know each other more.

They have already skipped many steps, with Ajax already living with him. Though who was to blame for it? The man was suddenly given life with no warning or reason. Zhongli couldn’t possibly kick him out in the first place.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” Ajax’s voice, disappointed yet understanding, cut off his previous thoughts. “I don’t want to force you or anything.”

Zhongli shook his head immediately, “No, no, it is not like that.”

“Then…?”

Pursing his lips, the artist turned to face his muse. Seeing him finally up close, with a comfortable atmosphere between them as if they knew each other for years, Zhongli noticed the freckles on his face.

It dotted his cheeks like a blush, reaching up to his forehead, to the corner of his lips. Everywhere. 

He was beautiful.

Zhongli’s throat bobbed as he cupped Ajax’s cheeks, his golden hues bore into his sapphire ones where neither could look away. Even as the tip of the artist’s ears turned red in embarrassment again and Ajax’s lips wobbled in excitement, no one pulled back.

This time, all common sense was thrown out the window. Zhongli’s consciousness was practically laughing at him for failing to comply with what he said earlier, though he merely ignored it. Fuck slowing down. Ajax was too beautiful to disappoint.

Both of his hands soon cupped his face, his skin tingling. “Is this okay?”

A nod.

Zhongli’s eyes closed and Ajax’s followed suit, lips closing inch by inch. 

The latter’s lips fit his perfectly, as expected when he kissed him before when he was but a statue. This time, however, it was warm and soft; full of life and love. Thousands of butterflies fluttered inside him, paired with fireworks going off at once. 

Zhongli was never the one to describe love and kisses in the way poetry or romance novels did, but it is what he exactly felt. 

His thumb smoothed over Ajax’s cheeks, tracing the freckles as he kissed him deeper. The latter kissed back happily, his hands holding onto his shoulders in excitement as he tilted his head, noses slightly bumping.

The artist was the first to pull away, panting slightly. His eyes caught on Ajax’s hues, eyes wide and glimmering. 

“Let’s do it again, please?”