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“Tartaglia, stay. I have a job for you.” The Tsaritsa’s voice sounds out in the spacious dining hall. Tartaglia blinks once, then again, taking in what he’s heard. Around him his siblings shuffle out of the hall, leaving him drenched in silence with his mother.
“Yes, mother.” Is all he said, as he relinquished his grip on his utensils. Though his hands shook ever so slightly, he made sure to do it right. The fork perfectly parallel to the knife, just as how he was taught.
‘Job’, was not a word Tartaglia heard often. Rather, it was ‘bounty’. Tartaglia was raised with the express purpose of biting the hand that the Tsaritsa brought to his jaw. Well, he was offered a job once, if he could even call it that. After that sham, he was back to his usual killings. Literally.
Now, his mother had used that word again. ‘Job’. Would this end like the last time? Or was would this be his first step proper into the upper echelons of the Fatui Familiaga?
“Do you remember the Master of the house of Rex Lapis?” The Tsaritsa’s eyes stare right through him, taking note of each twitch of muscle. Tartaglia keeps as still as possible, though a wave of heat rushes through him.
“Morax, yes.” He nods stiffly. His mother hums, still eyeing him carefully.
“Well, I do still owe that fossil a few favours and recently he’s come to cash one in.” She says flippantly. For all that the Fatui and Rex Lapis claim to be enemies, both sides have always maintained an almost amicable relationship and an open trade of ‘favours’.
“You see, ever since Morax passed, may he rest in peace, people have started to become more… aware, let’s say, of the members of the house of Rex Lapis.” She explains, completely glossing over the fact that the supposedly dead Morax was the one who asked for the favour in the first place. Well, it isn't as if Tartaglia needed an explanation for that, nor was he entitled to one, but he bristled all the same. “Recently, a certain funeral consultant has been having a sort issue regarding, well, marriage.”
Tartaglia stills, his world is imploding.
“Marriage?! M-Mister Zhongli is considering m-m-marriage?!?” All at once Tartaglia is flooded with a myriad of images. Dark brown hair swathed with a gossamer veil, white cloth hugging a tapered waist and golden embroidery crawling up long, svelte limbs.
His thoughts are halted when his mother clears her throat. Her eyes are colder, more severe than ever as she delivers the words that had floored him.
“No. It’s quite the opposite actually.” She sneers. “Your mission, my youngest, is to ruin him for marriage.”
Then a sly smirk takes its place upon her lips. Under her breath she mutters, “Perhaps then people will realise not to touch what is not meant for them.”
The fall of the house of Rex Lapis was a major disaster of an unprecedented scale. The master of the house of Rex Lapis, the elusive Morax, was the very pulse of Liyue harbour. He had his hand in all of its dealings. Everyone from the government to the doctors in the city had some sort of contract with him or his familiaga.
His sudden disappearance had left the port city reeling.
The worst part was, that Tartaglia was caught up in it.
In truth, Tartaglia was not wholly innocent. He was on his first official job as a harbinger to find out Morax’s secret identity. In his excitement, perhaps he drew too much attention to himself, asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. Thus, when Morax was declared missing and later on dead, suspicion naturally landed on the fatui.
Proving his innocence was a long, arduous task that inevitably drew the attention of other members of the fatui. It was tiring, stressful, but in the end he successfully found Morax’s true killer and salvaged the Fatui’s reputation in the Harbour by joining the investigation efforts.
Here are the facts that remain untold from the incident.
Firstly, while Tartaglia salvaged the Fatui’s reputation, his own remained irrevocably damaged. To the Fatui, he had botched his first official job. It was hard enough being the only member among the Tsaritsa’s chosen who was a forcefully recruited criminal. Now, they thought he couldn’t handle a job that used half of his brain.
He tried not to let that get him down, but the fact that he hadn’t received a job after that haunted him.
To the Liyuens, he had racked up a sordid reputation of a different kind. He was called a playboy, a flirt, and a terrible one at that. When he walked through the streets, merchants would not call out at him, but his partner, confident in their belief that he would buy anything his date would so much as look at. Some of them would point at him and say, “That’s what desperation looks like.” Which was completely unfounded, okay?
This reputation stemmed from his acquaintanceship with the illustrious Mr Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral parlour. Mr Zhongli was a man knowledgeable in all aspects regarding Liyue. He was the ideal subject to extract information from and that’s the only reason why Tartaglia approached him.
Was it so hard to understand that that Tartaglia had to buy Mr Zhongli expensive gifts to win his favour? Every time he did, he would have this soft little smile on his face that betrayed his delight. This meant, and Tartaglia was sure to explain this to his subordinates, that Mr Zhongli would open up to him more and offer him more information.
It was the same with the dinners. In order to loosen Mr Zhongli’s lips, lavish dinners were a must. Places with quiet atmospheres and mood lighting often encouraged alcohol consumption. Getting Mr Zhongli drunk was the prime tactic to getting him to slip some crucial information.
Of all his subordinates, Ekaterina was the only one who understood his vision. Even going as far as to offer her own suggestions.
(“I think we should also secretly photograph, Mr Zhongli under intoxication, sir. The image of the prim and proper consultant flushed and sleeping on your shoulder will serve as excellent blackmail, sir.”)
Somehow this led to the people of the harbour assuming that him was dating his target. Which was both untrue and extremely ridiculous, because as a harbinger, he did have a semblance of professionalism in his work. He did try to dispel the rumors by being a bit more obvious when meeting up with other informants, but that just made his reputation worse. (i.e. the playboy allegations.)
The second fact left unknown to the public: Morax is actually alive.
Moreover, Morax is Mr Zhongli.
Soft spoken, sweet, cute Mr Zhongli was the fearsome, iron fisted Morax whose name was spoken only in hushed whispers. If Tartaglia didn’t know better, he would think that it was a sacrilegious comparison. In fact, he didn’t believe at first. Vehemently denying the facts presented to him until he couldn’t any longer.
Morax had faked his death in order to lure out a whole host of unscrupulous characters and have them all jailed. His death led to the investigation of various fronts and as a result, corruption was exposed, fugitives where caught and laundering operations where stopped dead in their tracks.
All of Liyue’s criminal underbelly had been turned over and picked clean. And after all was said and done, Morax still didn’t resurface, choosing to fade quietly into the background rather than to reclaim his throne.
Days later, Tartaglia had noticed that Mr Zhongli was visibly happier. His resting face smiled a little, as opposed to his usual stoic look. His shoulders were relaxed and he was more open with his emotions. He laughed when he was happy and cooed at the birds that landed on his window sill. Of course, Tartaglia watched all of this from his perch on a building out of Mr Zhongli’s sight. He watched the way Mr Zhongli truly came into his own when Morax had truly and fully died.
After that whole debacle, Tartaglia had not contacted Mr Zhongli again. He wished to cut his ties with the criminal underworld, and Tartaglia would respect that.
The last unknown fact. Despite, Tartaglia’s best intentions, he was unquestioningly, irrevocably in love with Mr Zhongli. Even after the all deceptions, in spite of all the obstacles between them, Tartaglia was head over heels for the consultant and retired mafia boss.
And he didn't know what to do about it.
When it was just Tartaglia and Mr Zhongli, it wasn’t as hard. Mr Zhongli was a civilian, he was normal. If Mr Zhongli knew what Tartaglia actually was, he’d run the other way screaming. Now that he know Mr Zhongli was Morax, that changed things.
For one, Mr Zhongli had hands just as dirty, if not dirtier than Tartaglia’s. He himself praised Tartaglia on his ‘work’ ethic and efficiency in Liyue.
A hand petting his hair, releasing it with a slight tug. “Good boy, my Childe. You’ve done so well for me.” He said.
It was the hottest thing he had ever experienced. That hand had probably killed more people than Tartaglia could think of, and Zhongli, no Morax, had petted him with it.
Tartaglia was a mess. Mr Zhongli did this to him. He was absolutely done for.
Now here Tartaglia was, on his second official mission, back in Liyue. He wondered if he was being played, if his mother never intended to give him real missions and was just stringing him along.
The gist of this mission was to ruin Mr Zhongli for marriage.
The Wangsheng funeral parlour was an organisation that knew how to… deal with bodies that no one wanted found. It was never official, but the parlour had some vague connections to the house of Rex Lapis, god knows they needed it. With Morax gone and the house slowly dismantling, regular people have begun to be more confident in using the parlour’s services.
Since then, many people have laid their eyes on the most beautiful man Liyue has to offer. His gentle cadence allowed grieving families some comfort, and his steadfast demeanour gave them confidence that their dearly deceased would be sent off in the appropriately respectful manner.
Outside of that, Mr Zhongli’s knowledge of all things Liyue had been recognised. He would find himself regularly invited to conferences and auctions and for the affluent to bask in erudition. Not that he minded, he loved Liyue and was more than happy to share what he knew of its history and culture. His passionate rambles eventually drew more eyes to him—
And this is where the problems begin.
From the wealthy to the modest, the Wangsheng funeral parlour has been receiving patrons, not ones who were looking for a coffin, but rather their consultant.
At first, the Director found this all too hilarious, placing a premium on Mr Zhongli’s consultation service and demanding a fee when his presence was requested at events. When this failed to deter Mr Zhongli’s fans, it began to become concerning.
Then the marriage requests began to roll in.
In comes Tartaglia, who’s job it was to… ruin Mr Zhongli for marriage. Except he didn't know what that meant. What was he supposed to do? Kill anyone who looked at Mr Zhongli? He could definitely do that. (He kind of wanted to, in fact.)
The director skips over his greeting when he enters the parlour. Instead, she cups her hands over her mouth and hollers up the stairs, “YOUR BOY REPELLENT IS HERE, GRAMPS!” Then, she turns to face Tartaglia, stretching out a singular “Hi~~” in a long honeyed voice that for some reason has Tartaglia feeling afraid.
“Yoo hoo~ how’ve ya been, mister man?” She grins, catlike, “Hunting down mob bosses? Rizzing up any new consultants?” Then she gasps, eyes going wide as she realises something. “Have you killed anyone since returning to the harbour? Hmm? Have you? I can offer you a discount since you’re oh sooooo special.”
Tartaglia shakes his head. Director Hu of the Wangsheng Funeral parlour was both lauded and loathed for her interesting personality. Though, it was more of the latter, even if Tartaglia himself found it hard to dislike her.
“Not really, though I might, what with my assignment.” He tells her.
Her eyes light up, little giggles accompanying her speech, “Do tell, do tell! Or unless you’d have to silence me for knowing too much about your big bad fatui business~?”
“Not really. In fact, I myself don't know enough about my job.” He sighs
“Just, stop people from flirting with my consultant, four head. It’s that simple.” Hu Tao grins, a set up sharp white teeth on display. “It’s getting on my nerves you know. More and more people come in and it’s not even to do business. They just book a consultation and after that, no coffins no funeral plans, nothing! It’s like they don’t take my business seriously!”
“So! Here’s what you need to do: Show people my consultant is off limits! Say he’s taken by someone else! Make him fart in public! Mark him like a dog pissing on a tree! You feel me?” The young director says excitedly, clapping her hands together.
Contrary to what Hu Tao must believe, Tartaglia does not know what she means. The two of them are locked in a standstill, Tartaglia’s mouth gaping slightly.
Before the poor man can ask for clarifications on what the fuck that means, Mr Zhongli arrives and oh-
He’s just as gorgeous as when Ajax last met him.
He’s dressed in his usual finery, a fitted brown waistcoat over a cream shirt, a tie tucked neatly in between. He’s left his over coat behind and the garters holding his shirt in place were on display. Mr Zhongli was a man of meticulously built habits. Though he spent a fortune on all sorts of clothes and accessories, none of them made it onto his person if it didn’t fit within his dress code.
There was, however, a small change in his appearance, a distinct softness followed him now. It was as if all his hard edges had been worn down over time. Mr Zhongli somehow felt more inviting.
When their eyes met, Mr Zhongli seemed to glow.
Tartaglia wanted to bite him. He couldn’t say why, he just did.
“Childe, I’ve missed you.” Zhongli’s voice was honey smooth, sinking Tartaglia into an addicting warmth.
“Yeah.” He replies dumbly, there was nothing else he could do.
“I was thinking, since you’ve just returned I could… show you around the harbour? Much has changed since you’ve last been here.” Zhongli asks him, a finger tapping on his plush lower lip.
Tartaglia’s first day on the job didn’t involve much working, rather Zhongli insisted that they spend it catching up. They forfeited breakfast in favour for a few light bites from street vendor. The rest of the morning was spent strolling the markets and drinking tea by iron tongue tian’s story corner.
When they turned into wanmin’s for a late lunch, a familiar face greeted him.
“Childe!” Exclaimed Xiangling, expertly balancing five plates over the length of her arm. The girl is an inch taller than when Tartaglia last saw her, and she beams when he points it out. Not one to pull his punches, Tartaglia continues his roll of praise. He praises her newest dishes and proclaims how he had missed Wanmin’s food the most of all the eateries in Liyue.
“I’m glad you’re back, Childe. And I’m sure Mr Zhongli missed you dearly as well.” She tells him her smiling eyes curve into tiny crescents. Then surreptitiously looking around, she leans in and whispers, “Between you and me, Mr Zhongli has been very lonely without you.”
Oh? That was interesting. As far is Tartaglia was concerned, he was no more than another contract to the older man. He leans onto his arms, gleefully ignoring Zhongli’s small noise of protest.
“Really?” He grins. In the background, Zhongli whines out his name.
“Yes! He only ever eats alone here and he turns down anyone who tries pay for him.” She says and what a surprise that is.
“Mr Zhongli? Not accepting a free meal?”
“Nope. Not once!” Xiangling crossed her arm, eyes twinkling with mischief, “I think he started budgeting out of grief.”
“I did not.”
“Awh~! Mr Zhongli missed me that much?” Tartaglia teased. Zhongli flushed prettily under all the attention, a frown marring his delicate features. After a few moments of hesitation he mutters something under his breath.
“Hmm? What was that, Mr Zhongli~?” Tartaglia smirked, savouring the way Zhongli’s eyes glittered under his teasing, stopping only at the next few words that left Zhongli’s mouth.
“I said yes…” Mr Zhongli mumbled out, a furious blush over his cheeks. “I did… miss you… I missed you a lot.”
The statement washes over Tartaglia. Its sentiment slowly sinking into him. ‘Mr Zhongli missed me.’ Warmth floods the room, filling up the gaps in their silence.
All too soon the spell is broken by Chef Mao’s holler.
“Oh! My dad needs me! Don’t let the food go cold!” Xiangling sang as she bounced out of sight behind the divider.
“…I take it you can use your chopsticks?” Zhongli asked, a hand over lips as he usually did when he felt uncertain.
Tartaglia, probably because he hated himself, said, “Nope, but surely Mr Zhongli missed feeding me too.” He had made his decision.
Here is Tartaglia’s thought process: Back when Mr Zhongli and him had just met, they were rumoured to be dating. Surely, you wouldn’t propose marriage to a man you thought was already in a relationship? Therefore, if Tartaglia and Zhongli fall back into their usual habits, Zhongli would stop getting proposals and Tartaglia would get his consultant back.
Easiest mission he’s ever done.
Except it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever is.
After a mere two days of publicly wooing Zhongli, did Tartaglia realise just how dire the situation was. It was one thing to receive passing stares and random phone numbers. That just meant Mr Zhongli was pretty, handsome, gorgeous, stunning… (Tartaglia would gladly confiscate the eyeballs of anyone who disagreed) But no, when Mr Zhongli said he was receiving proposals, he meant it.
The funeral parlour spent a good hour before opening, sifting though formal proposals in the mail and chasing away suitors who waited in front of the door. More than once was Tartaglia’s carefully planned dates interrupted because some asshole got down on their knees and wouldn’t let them leave until Mr Zhongli gave them an answer.
Tartaglia was holding Zhongli’s hand right in front of them.
Time spent in Zhongli’s presence was never time wasted. Mr Zhongli was a great conversational partner as well as a listening ear. Tartaglia loved the stories and trivia Zhongli would feed him and the sights Zhongli would take him to see. He was happy, he was having fun.
And some inconsiderate assholes were always looking to ruin his day.
Presently, Tartaglia and Zhongli were trapped in an alleyway. Chest to chest, sandwiched between rough concrete. Usually, Tartaglia would relish the contact, but he was mature enough not to let it show when there were high stakes at hand.
Thankfully, Zhongli shared in his mentality, slowing his breathing and listening out for their pursuers.
Earlier, Tartaglia tried to take Zhongli for a walk on the beach. Tried, being the focus, because they had not taken one step onto the harbour when Tartaglia had spotted a man in a dark suit, a translucent earpiece in their ear. Immediately, Tartaglia turned tail and sped walked in the other direction, but it wasn't fast enough.
A voice yelled out, “There he is!” and instantly, men in suits began to appear into their path.
Another rich asshole trying to pin Zhongli down and propose to him.
Hence, their predicament.
“They’re gone.” Zhongli whispered, the harried footsteps fading out of earshot. The both of them sighed, slumping into each others space.
“Mr Zhongli has too many admirers.” Tartaglia whined, trying to make light of the situation to little effect.
“I… am sorry for dragging you into this, Childe. You are truly trying your best for me and it has not worked out… perhaps this his an issue on my part…” Tartaglia gaped at the words coming out of this man’s mouth. Was he being serious? The dour look on his face was enough for Tartaglia to know that yes, he was being serious.
“Hell no! None of this is your fault Mr Zhongli. Which the way some of these jerks are acting, it’s gone past just having a crush. You’re being harassed.” Tartaglia fumed.
“Thank you, Childe, truly. I… you don’t have to suffer through this for me.” Zhongli doesn't look him in the eyes. His head was hung low in defeat. “I will speak with the Tsaritsa and -“
“No.” Tartaglia cut him off, leaving Zhongli to blink owlishly at his statement.
“What?”
“I’m not leaving you here to deal with these freaks on your own.” Tartaglia asserted. He would not abandon this mission and he would not let Zhongli suffer through this anymore. How dare they. How dare these people make his Zhongli feel like shit. To keep invading his time and space again and again despite his refusal.
Zhongli looked at him like he had taken a bite out of a lemon. “Childe, if you were to do that, you’d be stuck here for a long time. Doing work that ultimately is inconse-“
“Don’t care.” Tartaglia huffed.
“Childe. Do not be petu-“
“No.”
“Childe, you don’t have to-“
“I want to. I want to because I like you, and I don’t like seeing Mr Zhongli sad.” Says Tartaglia steadfast. Ah, how many times has he managed to strike Zhongli speechless since he’s returned? He could get used to this sight, Mr Zhongli blushing oh so cutely, all because of him.
“Well, Mr Zhongli?” Tartaglia goads, leaning off of the wall to push against his consultant, “Do you like me back? Now would be a great time to say so.
It was not. They both of them had trapped themselves in a dingy alleyway, sweat glueing them together. It was not a romantic scenario by any measure. Still, Zhongli relents, hiding his face in Tartaglia’s shoulder.
“I do like you.” He says to his nape.
“Oh yeah? How much?” Tartaglia grins devilishly as he returns the embrace. Zhongli punches his side lightly.
“More than words can say.” Zhongli pouts, already shimmying his way out of the crevice.
“Woah, that must be a lot since Mr Zhong is particularly verbose.” Tartaglia grins, heart swelling as he chases after the older man. From now on, he’d have to get serious. No way anyone would be able to deny Mr Zhongli was taken once Tartaglia was done with him. “Mr Zhongli, wait up!”
Zhongli’s days were significantly more peaceful. After a small hitch, it seemed that everything was following the plans he made for his retirement. The parlour was quiet, the faint scent of incense floated undisturbed throughout the halls. The sun was setting casting a glow into Zhongli’s office, and most importantly, there wasn’t the inscessant noise of a bachelor arguing with his boss downstairs.
As the day came to a close, Zhongli strode down the stairs, a hand ghosting the bannister, confident in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be badgered about a proposal the second he stepped through the parlour’s doors.
He used to dread the moment he stepped out of the office. Now he looked forward to it for the solution to his problems would undoubtedly be waiting for him outside.
Right on cue, a rumbling noise creeps up the road, and as Zhongli steps out, he is greeted to the sight of a black and grey motorcycle peeling into the driveway with a roar. Zhongli didn’t know much about motorcycles, but he was sure his boyfriend must have chosen the loudest, most odious model he could find.
(“Find?” Tartaglia parrots, hands smoothing over the sleek red accents, “I had this custom made, Mr Zhongli.”)
The rider parked the gear, pulling off the helmet to reveal his beloved.
“Mr Zhongli!” Tartaglia greeted. He was dressed in black leather, his hair was mussed up, wild red mane framed his freckled cheeks. It made him glow. Zhongli was dating the most beautiful man in Liyue.
“Hello, Ch-“ Tartaglia bounded up the steps, three conquered in a single hop and crashed their lips together. Ever the fighter, Tartaglia kissed like he was in a battle, and he always wanted to win. He pushed at Zhongli, backing him up against the parlour door. It rattled from the force of the kiss, and Zhongli prayed, not for the first time, that they did not break it.
“Childe this is— Ah!” Zhongli yelped as Tartaglia, shamelessly, dragged down his collar and sucked another bruise into his growing collection.
When he was done, he thumbed at the dark ring around Zhongli’s neck. Then he met Zhongli’s eyes and winked, “Well? Have I done good, Mr Zhongli?”
“It was a bit excessive. I’m starting to think you may be an exhibitionist.” Though his words were dry, he ran his hand through Tartaglia’s messy hair, smoothing it out. Mr
“Desperate measures.” Tartaglia shrugs.
“Childe, you have long since driven all my suitors away.” Zhongli chuckles
“Oh? Well it seems I’ve really ruined you for marriage, huh?” Tartaglia flashes him another brilliant smile. Oh, this silly silly man.
“Yes, you have.” Zhongli agrees, leaning into his lover’s space, “You’d better take responsibility.”