Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Tsaritsa, the goddess, the Archon of love, rises to meet the dead-eyed gaze of a sixteen year old boy. Her hair falls in white whisps, like icy tendrils pulled from the soft snow; it reaches her shoulders, cascading down her back like a frozen waterfall. The furs draped around her shoulders are the same colour, with the subtlety of mink. Floating with her movements, her dress catches the light, shimmering like the glassy crystals inside of frost.

She reaches out towards him, gloved hands tracing an emblem against his forehead. Ajax lets her, watching his dusty hair tickle the white fabric, like a stain tarnishing something already perfect. She straightens, and although she does not smile, Ajax feels a sense of peace radiating throughout his body. This differs from the thrill of the fight, from the gleeful sensation of spilling his guts, this is what true joy feels like.

And like all Snezhnayans, Ajax thinks he might be a little bit in love with her. 

“You’ve risen through the ranks quickly, boy. It might be time to give you a new name.” How radiant her voice is! It’s like a thousand whispers caught in the branches of a low hanging tree. It’s like the ice lakes when they sing at night. It’s like wind chimes placed within a valley of echoes. It’s agony in its purest form.

“Yes, anything.” 

“How’s Tartaglia?” There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, as she runs her hand through his hair, as one would with a child. She casts him an affectionate eye, one reserved only for her favourites. “You can be my wolf.”

Her wolf? Her protector? Such a role is undeserved. Ajax is still a boy, he can do nothing to keep her safe, she does not need him. Still, he’s her wolf, a creature no lesser than a loyal puppy blindly following his owner, it’s all he could ever want. His eyes widen into planets, as if he can see whole galaxies open before him. Galaxies he will never be allowed to reach, but galaxies all the same.

“Of course, your Majesty. Anything.” 

__________________

Ajax belongs to the Tsaritsa. This is the only thought which gets him through his mission in Liyue.

The Fatui teaches a disciplined code, one which states that its members should use all parts of the human psyche to their advantage. If someone trusts you, use their trust, if someone dislikes you, become a better enemy, if someone loves you, pretend you love them too. It’s the same formula Ajax has stuck by for years, throwing himself headfirst into relationships and situations he does not want, but ones he must acknowledge anyway. At seventeen, it was a girl he courted for two years, until he used her love in order to reach the heart of her mother’s company. The second was a Fontainian who had little money but gave every mora of his earnings right back into the Fatui’s pockets.

They had called Ajax heartless, the both of them, and Ajax is perfectly inclined to agree. He has never loved any of his pursuers, he has drained them of every drop he can squeeze from their lifeless bodies, and has relished in the fact that he is doing so. Ajax has told himself he will never love something more than he loves the Fatui and her Majesty with it. 

Yet, the third is a man with the brightest amber eyes Ajax has ever seen. A man who forgets his mora in the most obscure places, and a man who knows more about ancient history than anyone the Harbinger has ever met. He smells like silk flowers and old books, and sometimes, if Ajax catches him whilst he’s working, he wears glasses on a chain around his neck. 

His hair is long and dark and soft, so soft Ajax wants nothing more than to bring it up to his cheek, place it against his skin, know that it’s there and it’s real and that he can have it. His clothes are spun from the richest threads, his coat is embroidered with mountains and cranes and all the beautiful things which remind Ajax why it is that he’s still living.

Mister Zhongli is everything he could ever want.
So, naturally, Ajax does not allow himself to return the affections.

Their visits to Wamin become more and more frequent, and Ajax finds himself on the ledge so many times. He wants to reach out, take Zhongli’s hand in his, smear his blood against his collarbones, and bring back to Snezhnaya to parade around the Zapolyarny Palace. Zhongli would like it, the libraries are extensive, the catacombs below rich with history -and the trade, of course, one can find everything in Snezhnaya from unpolished ruby to scarfs knitted from spidersilk.

And so Ajax holds himself back. He returns Zhongli’s fleeting smiles; he tries to ignore the way amber eyes soften whenever they meet oceanic blue. He tries to ignore the subtle touches, the fervent need to be closer with one another, to breathe the same oxygen, to live within the same bloodied heart.

Of course, that was all a fool’s dream, and Ajax is the biggest fool of them all. Zhongli never loved him, he was playing the same game as the Fatui, dancing on rooftops just for Ajax to give into the chase. Because Zhongli is Morax, and Ajax is the clown playing servant for a god.

__________________

Scaramouche sits opposite Ajax in the mess hall, navy hair flopping over his eyes. It has grown longer since Ajax last saw him, but all else remains static, stationary. He still has those doll limbs, those skeletal fingers which end in claws, that placid smile inches away from a sneer.

“I thought you were in Inazuma.” Is all Ajax says to him, slipping into the role of ‘Childe’. He must be the diplomat, the friendlier version of a Harbinger with blood dripping from his jaws. ‘Childe’ can befriend his allies, ‘Childe’ can be trusted.

He brings a spoonful of borscht to his lips, ignoring the sour cream entirely. Across from him, Scaramouche chews thoughtfully, and takes the aggravating path of refusing to answer until he has swallowed down another two forkfuls. “I am,” he says, at last, with the air of someone oversimplifying for a child to understand, “I went home for a while, since dear old mum is being a bitch.” He waves his hand around, something about the Shogun blindly attacking his forces, “anyway, I heard you were back from Liyue and I had to congratulate you! Not many people can complete a mission without even knowing what that mission is.”

Ajax purses his lips. Out of all the Harbingers, Scaramouche is the one he tolerates the most. He dislikes the way the Knave stares, as if seeing right through you, and the Good Doctor’s medicines are enough for anyone to shy away from. The rest are, as expected, self-righteous, egotistical and certainly have no time for the youngest among their rank.

Still, even if Ajax can tolerate Scaramouche, it does not mean he enjoys their conversations. He feels his grip on his spoon tighten, knuckles turning white. “At least my mother didn’t abandon me and start a civil war.”

“Touché.” With that comment, the rest of their meal is filled with uncomfortable silence and the sound of Scaramouche’s fork scraping against his plate. The rest of the mess hall is deserted, as usual. Since he was in training, Ajax was always the last person in, avoiding the crowds.

He’s not a solitary person, if anything Ajax thrives in conversation, but something changes in him when he’s inside the four towering walls of the palace. Besides, he doesn’t enjoy the lesser ranks trying to suck up to him, unlike some of his Harbinger brethren (Pantalone will accept any gift, be it coin, cloth or bone). 

“I heard a funny story,” Scaramouche breaks the silence at last, placing his utensils back on his plate and pushing them over to Ajax’s side of the table to clear away. 

“Hm?”

“Our trackers in Liyue say Morax hasn’t been home in days.” 

“Oh,” Ajax says, stupidly, because at the mention of the Geo Archon’s name, his chest constricts. There’s a tightness in his lungs, as if he’s been kicked in the stomach. He never expected to hear that name again so soon. It was supposed to go like this: Ajax would leave Liyue and never have to think about that… that man again.

“Just thought you might want to know,” Scaramouche rises to his feet, an ugly smile working its way to his lips. "Afterall, the Good Doctor tells me you were simply heartbroken when you returned to Snezhnaya.”

Ajax throws his spoon at him. Scaramouche ducks, sticks his tongue out, and walks away, leaving Ajax alone in the cafeteria, wondering if everyone knew about his tiny, almost non-existent ‘crush’ on Zhongli. 

__________________

As the weeks pass since Ajax’s return, he forces his mind away from the events of Liyue, sticking to the mundane missions Her Majesty sends him on in Snezhnaya, and, of course, visiting his family whenever he can (those days are always difficult, his younger siblings are not yet lost to the world and cherish him as if he truly is someone they can love, the rest of his family eye him with wariness and try not to spend too much time in his presence).

There is still an emptiness festering like a nausea in his stomach whenever he thinks of Liyue, and Zhongli, and everything which went wrong.

The one benefit of Scaramouche’s presence is that Ajax has someone to spar with. No Operative wants to fight the Tsaritsa’s ‘wolf’, and certainly no Harbinger has time for him. Scaramouche has always enjoyed the task as it gives him time to gloat about ‘how much better he is than Ajax at everything’, but the more strenuous the fight, the more Ajax can improve. At any rate, it serves as a distraction, and that’s all he needs.

He finds himself in the training grounds outside, bleeding steadily into the snow as Scaramouche stands with his arms crossed and nothing more than a hair out of place. He sneers down at his companion.

“Faliure of a Vanguard,” is all Scaramouche says. Ajax throws a fistful of snow into his face and decides that is enough of a punishment. Scaramouche’s sneer crumples in on itself and an expression of pitiful disgust replaces the pride smeared across his lips.

There’s no time for him to retaliate because the sound of footsteps stir them from their argument. Ajax has no time to pick himself up from the ground, much to the terror of the young recruit walking into the courtyard. 

The girl dons her mask in one hand, the other clutched tightly around a glass cylinder. She almost drops this when she spots Ajax, rushing over to his side before realising the obvious. Her young face contorts, eyes widened until they appear owlish. “Ah- Lord Tartaglia, Lord Scaramouche..” She bows a little stiffly, as if half terrified they’re about to pounce on her like a pair of wolves.

Ajax manages to get to his feet, brushing the snow off his coat. He smiles, sliding back into his ‘Master Childe’ persona as he waves off her formalities. “No need for all that. We’re you looking for one of us?”

“Ahm- yes, you actually Lord Tartaglia.. I have a- ahm- a message to give you.” She extends the metal cylinder with a poorly concealed grimace. Ajax takes it from her carefully. He can understand being in her position, to an extent. In the lower rankings, respect for the Harbingers are hammered into you -mostly due to the horror stories about how Il Dottore and Sandrone treat their underlings.

Nonetheless, Ajax doesn’t enjoy the role of the fearmonger. He never lets his smile have that acidic bite most of the Harbingers possess, preferring instead his own form of alkaline, where he can be respected for the warmth he aims to radiate. It’s stupid, but Ajax wants to be liked.

He can’t stand the idea of being hated. The knowledge that someone despises him sends maggots squirming in his stomach. It makes him feel sick knowing that his imperfections have been spotted. Of course, as a Fatuus, Ajax understands more than anyone what it’s like to be hated. Yet, he would rather the rest of Teyvat despise him than his own kind. If he has no loyalties within the Fatui then what was the point of all his struggling?

“Thank you.”

Carefully, he uncorks the cylinder, dumping the copper lid onto the snow. He unfurls a single letter written in an almost indecipherable cursive.

Lord Harbinger
Man spotted by palace. Dark hair, ragged clothes. Troops have not yet engaged, send orders with Alisa.

Ajax turns back to the girl, whom he assumes is Alisa. They don’t usually see many invaders this close to palace walls, most are swept away by the guards on the outer boundary a good six hundred yards away. “Has he made any demands?”

“Well uh- that’s the thing Lord Harbinger. He’s sort of unconscious.”

At this, Scaramouche seems to have enough and snatches the note, he scans it over as Ajax asks the messenger a few more questions.

Alisa seems to have most of the answers he needs, which is strange because that means the letter was basically useless. Ah well, he’ll put it down to a commander in need of an ego boost, talking a Harbinger directly. 

Normally, this wouldn’t be a matter Ajax would have to engage with, but he feels an unexplainable sinking feeling in the well of his stomach. He follows Alisa back to the Palace walls and, naturally, Scaramouche follows him.

As they wade into knee-deep snow, the sinking feeling only grows. A tense silence fills the air, made no better by Alisa’s nervous stumblings. His boots crunch, the only sound breaking the moaning of the wind.

They approach the body, lying close to the gates. Brown furs spill off broad shoulders, torn and matted. A coat, thick as any rug, or at least what Ajax assumes is a coat, covers the majority of his tall frame, although the countless tears look like they’re doing nothing for the cold. Silky, dark hair lies over one shoulder in a ponytail, although a few unkempt strands pool into the snow.

Ajax feels the air leave his lungs and a useless exclamation of “oh fuck,” escapes his lips because there is nothing else for him to say.

It’s Zhongli.
No. No, it  can’t be. Why would Zhongli be in Snezhnaya mere weeks after he betrayed Ajax? And what Archon allows the snow to overpower them? What Archon can’t look after themselves?

Except Zhongli isn’t an Archon anymore, is he? He’s an Adeptus now, weaker than he was. The energy flowing through his veins is no longer an indestructible geo but a diluted form. He’s not.. He-

Oh fuck.

Ajax doesn’t really think about it. He carefully rolls Zhongli over, trying to ignore the stab in his chest when he sees that familiar, perfect line of red on his eyelids, and presses his fingers to an icy neck feeling for a pulse. There is one, because Zhongli can’t die. Zhongli will never die. If anything is guaranteed in life, if anything is consistent, it’s the fact that Zhongli will always be around.

Ajax scoops Zhongli up, trying not to think about how giddy he was back in Liyue when he learnt he was strong enough to take Zhongli’s weight, and turns back towards the gates. There’s a faint trickle of breath escaping the Adeptus’s lips, forming clouds in the air. His skin is ice and he trembles a little, and all Ajax can think is how stupid Zhongli is going to feel when he wakes up and realises what a fool of himself he has made.

Ajax doesn’t want to think about the ever prevailing ‘if’, because it could be an if. What if Zhongli doesn’t wake up? What if Zhongli actually dies? And the more selfish, what if Zhongli came here for Ajax?

Because Ajax is meant to despise this man. Zhongli ripped him apart, betrayed him without looking back. Zhongli had no qualms with tossing Ajax aside like their companionship was meaningless. Zhongli was the first person to truly break him, and Ajax still isn’t better. He doubts he ever will be.

He should leave him out there in the snow. He should let Zhongli freeze without looking back…
But he doesn’t. He could never do that.

“You’re an idiot, Childe,” Scaramouche whispers as they enter the palace, and for once, Ajax agrees. He is an idiot. He’s in love with a man who will never love him back, a man who used him, a man who turned his back on him and left without saying a word.

Ajax should despise him. Ajax should leave him in the snow instead of taking him back to his home. He should let Zhongli suffer, like he deserves. Except Ajax can’t. Zhongli has never been.. weak like this before. From the day they met, Ajax had always assumed him indestructible. Even when he posed as human there was no doubt that he could stand his own in a fight, that even the elements would quake beneath his footsteps. Yet Snezhnaya’s relentless cold was, like with many unfortunate travellers, too much for him.

And there’s blood on his lips.

They take him to Il Dottore, one of the only people allowed knowledge of his true identity. Ajax dumps Zhongli rather unceremoniously on the dirty sofa the Good Doctor keeps in his quarters. His laboratory, usually so sterile, has one or two rooms suited for comfort rather than utility. Of course, none of these are clean.

“You’ll heal him, right?” Scaramouche says, because Ajax has lost the ability to speak. He can’t tear his eyes away from Zhongli and his tiny inhales, and the fact it looks like he’s dying. People just.. don’t die around Ajax. Sure, he’s witnessed his fair share of atrocities in the Fatui, watched them string the bodies of traitors from palace walls, seen spears pierce his troop’s sides in battle, but death has never felt so imminent, so.. vivid.

“What do you take me for?” Dottore slurs, and from the way he stumbles forwards it’s clear he isn’t sober, “I’ll look after your Archon.”

Uneasily, Ajax glances around, but there are no other segments in sight, sorry Zhongli. Leaving the consultant to his fate, he follows Scaramouche out the door. 
This will not be the end of it, but hell he needs some firewater to deal with all of this.

__________________

The Tsaritsa hears word of Zhongli’s presence half a day later. She summons a disgruntled Ajax, Il Dottore and Scaramouche to her throne room. In the doorway, Dottore says something about a hangover and promptly shoves Scaramouche through the door, to which the Balladeer bristles like a cat.

Her Majesty is like the snow itself. Her skin glistens in the way water caught on cobwebs would. Her movements are spider-like too, stretching out long limbs in greeting, smiling without crinkling her eyes. Her teeth are bright white.

“Doctor, Balladeer,” her voice contains the tinkling of wind chimes, delicate, gentle, yet sharp when one gets too close, “and my wolf.”

They bow before her, and Ajax can’t help but feel his hands tremble. He balls them into fists, struggling to don his second mask. Tartaglia, violent, brutal, worse than a killer because Tartaglia is supposed to enjoy it. He’s supposed to relish in the life-force slowly leaving his enemies eyes, he’s supposed to live for the sound of his arrows piercing flesh.

He doesn’t.
Ajax lives for the fight, not the inevitable after.

“Your Majesty,” Ajax says at the same time that Dottore mutters, “my good lady.” Only Scaramouche remains in silent respect, although his eyes dart around the room in groaning fatigue. 

“I hear you found an old friend of mine. It was… kind of you to bring him back to the palace. He has awoken, rest assured my wolf, but he refuses to tell me why he is here.” She waves her hand dismissively, and Ajax feels his stomach sink, “having an Adeptus in Snezhnaya does not feel like good news. I’ve sent him to the dungeons, does this sound fair?”

“Very fair, my good lady.” Dottore nods along, although his eyes keep flickering around the room and it’s clear his focus has lapsed.

The Dungeons? The Tsaritsa sent Zhongli.. To the dungeons? Ajax feels his jaw slacken before he has time to steady himself and the outcome is truly a pathetic sight for the Vanguard. She can’t do that, can she? She can’t imprison another Archon.. Although he isn’t an Archon anymore. There is no geo Archon. The Tsaritsa has locked up a man named Zhongli who works at a funeral parlour with no relation to her remaining save for the fact one of her Harbingers is in love with him.

“I would like you three to figure out why he is here, so I can let him out.”

Everyone nods and agrees and pretends until the doors slam behind them and they’re left alone in the corridor. At once, all formalities drop. 

Scaramouche pretends to flick an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, “Oh no, it seems Inazuma calls, the Shogun is on the move.. Or something, I must leave at once.. See you Childe, don’t keep me updated about Morax, I don’t care.” He turns heel and walks away, and Ajax can’t help but wonder, as he does every time he sees the Balladeer, if they will ever meet again. 

Dottore stands a little further away, staring idly out of one of the stained-glass windows. It depicts a familiar legend of the water spirit, Rusalka, bursting out of the waves. It only takes a moment for him to say, “I wonder if I could get my hands on some of that Adeptus blood..”

“Absolutely not.” 

And that’s that. This will be a solo mission, because Ajax can’t trust Il Dottore, and Scaramouche is a dick.

__________________

That night, Ajax walks himself to the dungeons. He dons a Fatui mask, in the hopes that it will be enough to momentarily conceal his identity from Zhongli, but he knows that’s probably wishful thinking. Still, just how is he supposed to approach him after Zhongli betrayed him and wound up as a prisoner in Zapolyarny palace?

There’s a plate of food in his hands, which is admittedly part of the problem. Ajax went to great lengths to find the ingredients to replicate a ‘braised meatball’. The cook burnt it slightly, but it still looks edible. He’s careful to balance it as he descends the winding stairwell where the cells for the worst of the criminals are kept.

Their ‘maximum security’ dungeons are really just isolation rooms. There are a couple of guards playing TCG outside the door but that’s it. None of the prisoners can break out because their shackles are made of reinforced ice, connected to the Tsaritsa’s powers. Only another Archon could break them, and there is no other Archon anymore.

He nods to the guards and lets himself in, inhaling sharply as the door swings open. The cell is a small box shaped room without any windows. There’s a bed in the corner, next to a small bench on which the Consultant sits. He’s elegantly poised, with his eyes averted to a spot on the ground and his arms behind his back, hiding his chains from sight. He immediately glances up when he hears Ajax enter and his amber eyes meet oceanic blue, hidden behind a mask.

“I’ve got you some food,” Ajax says, stupidly.

Zhongli offers a frog-like blink. He shifts, tightening his jacket which hangs over his shoulders, and Ajax realises he’s shivering. 

“Thank you,” Zhongli offers, in a pitiful voice. He reached forwards towards the bowl, which Ajax almost knocks over. Zhongli’s hands are ungloved, tiny rivers of gold run along his veins, leaving branching pathways all over his skin. His palm is slick with dried blood which stains the white of the bowl, and he winces when it makes contact.

“Fuck Zhongli, your hand!”

“You know my name?” The Adeptus’ eyes light up and Ajax curses himself for making such a stupid mistake. Still, Zhongli seems so blinded in his pain that he does not notice. He shakes the offending hand a little, and his usually expressionless face controls into a grimace. “Ah- do not worry about this, it is an old injury.”

That’s such a clear lie that even Ajax can see through it. He walks a little closer, struggling to breathe. “You look cold.”

“I am not.”

Ajax places his hand on Zhongli’s shoulder, shuddering when all he can feel is ice. The words come out much softer than he intended, “you’re shaking all over.”

“I am not.”

The dark haired man’s retort is cut short when Ajax dumps his own cloak over his shoulders. “Cut the act. Why are you here, Zhongli? What’s happened to you?”

And like a child, Zhongli crosses his arms, his meal left forgotten on the bench beside him. His sleeve slips down from the movement, revealing more gilded veins stuck in his skin. “I do not want to talk about it.”

Well, Ajax can be a child about it too. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

Zhongli does not touch his food once.

__________________

Ajax visits again in the morning, and this time Zhongli pretends to be asleep. It’s a clear lie, because his breaths are uneven and Ajax knows how Zhongli sleeps. 

He saw it back in Liyue on the night of a great storm. It could not compare to the damage which was Osial, as nothing was destroyed, no bodies lay in the streets, no blood stained the leaves copper, but it was still a storm too powerful for him. 

The streets of Liyue were deserted, the rain opaque like a sheet of knives descending over the city. The Harbour roared, ocean waves crashing into the beaches, muffled beneath the ever-present howl of thunder. Dazed, Ajax stumbled through the storm, covered only by the thin hood of his Fatui sanctioned summer coat. He had never expected somewhere so warm to experience storms worse than Snezhnaya, and was completely unprepared.

He could barely see two centimeters ahead of him, the buildings merged into one, the noises a single symphony of conflicted sound. There was nothing, no way back to his hotel room, no way back to the bank, just rain making his hands turn numb.

And then, Zhongli. His elegant form stood beneath an umbrella formed from golden geo rock. He must have been strong to hold up something so heavy, but it did the trick, as stone can not be blown away. Even so, the hems of his trousers were sodden, and chunks of mud marred his dress shoes.

“What are you doing out here, Childe?” He had to shout to be heard, his voice weakened by the tremendous rain.

“Just getting back home.”

“Home? Do you truly expect to make it back in this weather? Come inside.”

That night, Ajax had seen Zhongli’s apartment for the first time. It was, as with everything relating to that man, swelling with regality. There were polished beams holding up the ceiling, a table covered in trinkets ordered into neat rows, a writing desk heaped with more books than Ajax had ever seen. He could have sold it all to a museum and made more mora than even Pantalone owned, but of course, Zhongli would never part with his collections.

Ajax had slept next to Zhongli, feeling his warm breath tickle his neck. The consultant’s brow was furrowed, as if his dreams disturbed him, showing more emotion than he ever did in waking. His body was curled on its side, lashes fluttering as his irises moved beneath their lids.

Beautiful, as he always is.

Ajax lowers Zhongli’s breakfast onto the ground. He stands there for a while longer, unsure of himself and the mask still plastered to his face. Why isn’t Zhongli being compliant? That would save them all the trouble. If he only tells the Tsaritsa why he is here then he can go back to Liyue and Ajax can forget about him. Ajax can move on. He can continue in that state of inertia.

And then, a pair of cor lapis eyes are watching him. Zhongli’s hair is sprawled across his face in wispy strands, as if he hasn't bothered to tie it back yet, and there are dark patches beneath his eyes which certainly weren’t there before.

“Breakfast,” Ajax says, hollowly, as if that in any way excuses the fact he has been watching Zhongli for far too long. The consultant nods, mutely, and straightens. He shifts so that his hands are completely covered, and seems to have no inclination of picking up his plate. Ajax sighs, deeply, and props himself on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re doing in Snezhnaya?”

“Will you tell me who you are?”

Ah, this is new. Ajax smiles beneath his mask, shifting the hood covering his hair a little further down, the disguise is working then, it seems. “Nikolay Snezvich.” It’s the name he often frequents, unsuspicious, forgettable, yet clearly Fatui. Zhongli shifts a little at the moment.

“Snezvich? I had hoped we could be more honest with each other, don’t try to fool me, Childe.”

Oh.
Ajax lowers his mask, there’s no real point in it anymore, and stares out of uncovered eyes. Zhongli’s lips twitch a little in the ghost of a smile, because Zhongli does not smile. He does not show emotion at all. Zhongli is a void of which one has to learn how to catch even the slightest of changes or else he will never be understood.

Ajax stares back at him, at the man who betrayed him, at the man who he’s still in love with. “Please, just tell me why you’re here. That’s all Her Majesty needs..”

Zhongli opens his mouth and for a moment Ajax thinks he’s going to hear it, he thinks that Zhongli is going to say that he wanted to see him, but it isn’t. Ajax is a fool, he’s let himself become too attached. He’s a wolf, he doesn’t belong to Zhongli, or anyone else. The Tsaritsa’s pet is who he is, it’s all he will ever be.

“I can not tell you yet, I’m sorry.”

Ajax has had enough of this. He turns away, letting the door slam closed behind him, and wonders if he can ask Arelecchino to do this instead, as she has always been good at interrogations. 

He wants to leave this behind him. He wants Zhongli to be a part of the past, to ebb away with the shore, but he can’t. Zhongli was the first person to see past his exterior, and bring the lamb out from the wolf’s jaws.

__________________

“What’s up with his hands?” Ajax perches on the ledge of a mezzanine, wrists dangling above the barriers as he looks down upon Il Dottore’s lab. The scent of saline assaults his nose, worsened by the segment mopping the floors with what can only be bleach.

There are strange specimens growing in water tanks, some have eyes, noses, veins, and Ajax can only wonder just what the Good Doctor is creating. A mimicry of life? Is he like the rest of the fallen angels? Creating crude imitations of what should not be made?

“Morax’s?”

“Yeah, his.” It seems strangely blase to be talking about a seemingly dead Archon like this, so much so that Ajax almost laughs. Almost. He will not lose his composure before another Harbinger.

Dottore hums, hunched over a desk with a series of indecipherable scribblings littered on paper. They seem nonsensical, but Dottore has always managed to make the incredible out of the ordinary. “Hm.. I believe that he’s struggling to adapt to an Adeptus body. It would be fine if he were in Liyue and connected to the Ley Lines.”

Ajax feels a horrible sensation welling in his stomach, “but he isn’t.”

“No.” Dottore says, cheerfully, “he’s probably going to die.”

“Oh.”

__________________

It happens again. That strange feeling which first assaulted him in Liyue returns, the one where he feels like someone else. The hands before him, scratched and scarred from years of battle, so changed from the soft, callous-less things which they had once been, back when his cheeks were full with babyfat, not hollow as they are now. These hands don’t belong to him. Neither does the coat on his back or the sharp canines in his mouth. 

Ajax is alive in there, buried beneath the layers of Childe and Tartaglia, and everyone he has never been. He turns his hands over and over and over, staring at the palm, at the back, at each finger, until the image is burned into his mind and he can see nothing else. These hands don’t belong to him.

He’s Tartaglia, not Ajax. He’s Tartaglia, a man who does not cry for foreign gods, a man who does not need saving, as so many seem to think. He’s heartless and cold, and he believes Zhongli is really going to die.

Aimlessly, Ajax wanders the market square, waving away the tentative bows terrified citizens offer him. He finds a stand with a canister of boiled firewater and orders a mug to carry around with him. It’s warm enough to help him forget the snow crunching underfoot, and the winter which seems to only grow worse. He wonders how badly Moresepeok has been hit, and if Tonia is still learning how to play the lyre. Just think, his sister the bard, renowned around Teyvat for the right reasons.. Not because she’s some sort of killing machine like her big brother.

“I need a cloak,” he states to the seamstress in the market square. She wrinkles up her nose at him, peering out from thick lenses, “maybe a maroon colour, and as warm as you can have it.”

“I can insulate it with sheepskin.”

“Ah no- I think he- I think I would prefer something artificial.” 

The seamstress leans back on her chair, clearly unimpressed. She reaches towards a teacup, taking a hearty sip. “You speak for the animals or something?”

“No, just the sheep.” It’s rare to find someone in Snezhnaya defying the Harbingers, almost refreshing really. Most grovel at his feet in a display of human negligence. He doesn’t want that; although, the woman’s disdain is making him antsy. Did he say something wrong? Or is it simply because he’s a Harbinger? What if she takes ages to make the cloak? What if she uses her lowest quality materials and offers him something of no use?

It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t get in his head about this: afterall, it isn’t as if the cloak is for him. Still, Ajax is careful with the rest of their conversation, holding his tongue and smiling politely whenever she offers a backhanded compliment. In the end, he secures a brown cloak with a woolen lining and faux fur hood. It seems warm enough, and with a few embellishments (constellations perhaps) it may just be to the taste of someone with a preference for the opulent.

He’s thinking about this too much isn’t he? Ajax should just go home, he should leave Zhongli to be someone else’s problem and let him die, like he clearly wants. Is that what this is? Has Zhongli come to Snezhnaya only to torment Ajax and force him to watch as the only person he has ever loved slips away?

Fuck. Ajax stares at the hands which are not his own and tries not to scream. 

“Tartaglia?” He glances up at the call and sights the dark hair and glasses of the Regrator. Pantalone smiles in innocent complacency, and Ajax wonders how difficult it would be to knock out all of his teeth. 

“Pantalone,” Ajax offers, biting the inside of his cheek, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” It’s not as if he doesn’t like Pantalone and the other Harbingers. However, even Her Majesty’s finest can fall into hedonism. Pantalone is a man who allows poverty to plague Snezhnaya, all for the sake of lining his pocket.

“I saw you moping, dear Tartaglia, and it does not do to mope. Will you come and drink with Dottore and me?”

“Are you paying?”

“You see right through me, don’t you?” 

Somehow, Ajax finds himself seated in a tavern across from Il Dottore and Pantalone. It’s not unusual for the latter two to be seen together, as they often come as a pair, but Ajax rarely allows himself to be in either of their company. He must be feeling bad to allow this to happen.

Another bottle of firewater sits before him, but Ajax favours osmanthus, pouring glass after glass. Between them, they’ve nearly drunk all the alcohol in the stock room. 
“So can your segments die?” The lights are flashing and he can barely hang onto the conversation. Primary colours blur into each other, creating a menagerie of technicolour.

“A-bubub! You can’t ask me that,” strangely, Dottore remains the most sober out of all of them. Pantalone has his head pressed onto the table, stifling silent laughter.

“O-okay then.. Does Pantalone know?”

“Of course I know! I know everything!” Pantalone has a strange look in his eyes, akin to a god staring down at his creation, but Pantalone is human. A selfish human who would never be able to know everything because he spends all his time scheming to get more money than doing anything productive.

“Did you mean to say that out loud?”

“Ah.” Ajax slams his head down, listening to the sounds in the wooden tabletop. He thinks he can hear the ocean. Everything aches, as if someone has thrown his body into the inferno.

“Hey Tartaglia.” Pantalone leans over, slurring his words, clearly too lost in his stupor to take in Ajax’s words. “Don’t you have a prisoner to attend to?”

A prisoner? Are these drunken ramblings? Drunken… Drunk… Oh. Wait is Pantalone drunk? Is he drunk? Ah- the room is definitely spinning. So he is drunk. How did that happen? 

“Huh?”

“Did you give Morax his dinner?” Dottore translates with a shit-eating grin. One which makes it clear that he knew this whole time. Of course he did.

“Oh. Shit.”

Ajax stumbles to his feet, struggling to slip his arms into his coat sleeves. He has a strange image of Zhongli as some sort of pet, needing his fervent attention and charity. It’s a ridiculous image, because, if anything, Ajax is the wounded creature. 

He’s the one with the Abyss in his blood. He’s the one collecting battle wounds like a trophy, searching for the fight which he will finally lose. He’s the one who has been aching and never, ever stopped. He’s the one who was betrayed in Liyue, he’s the one who was used as a plaything. He’s the one who can't close his eyes at night without seeing the faces of all those Tartaglia has killed. 

“Goodbye dear Tartaglia! Do drink with us again!” Pantalone's warbled voice follows his sloppy steps outside. Ajax stomps through the snow, eyes gazing towards the palace. He must trip at some point, because suddenly his hair is sticking to his forehead and his body feels all numb and horrible. 

He’s not entirely sure how he manages to get to the dungeons, but one moment he’s standing in the snow and the next his cold hands are struggling to slot the key into the door. He unlocks it after an embarrassingly long time.

Ajax stumbles into the cell before realising he has completely forgotten to bring any food with him, not that Zhongli looks to be in any state of eating it. He’s left most of this morning’s breakfast on the bench, like a sorry excuse of an ornament.

“Zhongli!” Ajax slurs, and the consultant catches on immediately. His eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, a movement which most would have missed. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and his glassy eyes are gazing into Ajax’s with a terrible intensity. His eyes look sick, with a strange redness on the lids and flakes of dried skin near the corneas.

“Childe, I had half wondered if you were not going to return.” He tilts his head back, rattling one of the shackles, his eyes pointing to an  invisible sky. 

“Course I was gonna return,” Ajax says, or at least he hopes he says. His voice sounds far away and not like his at all… He’s overwhelmed with a sudden urge to laugh, despite the fact there is nothing funny about this situation whatsoever. “Can’t let you die by yourself can I?”

“Die?” Zhongli asks, pensively, “who said I was going to die?”

“Oh you know.. People.”

“Childe. I am not going to die.” There’s an unbearable panic shining in his eyes. It’s strange, Ajax had once believed that the gods could never feel fear. They’re immortal creatures, elegant, powerful, strong and lithe and radiating with all that it is to be alive. An Archon should be beyond human emotions, but then, shouldn’t an archon be beyond human deceit? Beyond betrayal?

Ajax slams a hand to his forehead, clenching his teeth. There’s a burning in the back of his throat and he feels like he’s going to be sick. “I hate you so much Zhongli.” 

Zhongli stares at him unblinkingly, and Ajax feels the harrowing sensation of being stared down by a predator greater than him. A wolf is no match for a dragon. He wants to cower, he wants to recede back into the edges of the room where the shadows can curl around him like a blanket and shield him away.

Unwillingly, he must take a step back, because somehow he’s on the ground with lights bursting behind his eyes. 

“Childe!” Zhongli hovers over him, arms outstretched uselessly, the chains preventing him from reaching the Harbinger in time. Ajax lies dazed on the ground, feeling the stone slabs beneath him radiate cold into his shirt. He stares up at the ceiling of invisible stars, and catches a glimpse of Zhongli’s golden arms. Has it spread? Or has he always had gold running through his veins? 

By hell, it’s beautiful. Zhongli’s sickness is beautiful; what a harrowing thought. He’s ill, he’s dying, and yet Ajax thinks that only makes him more beautiful. Like the core of a star, like an old statue sculpted by the hands on artist with eyes for nothing but their muse.

If only Ajax were that artist. How he would spend his days pouring over a stone. He would carve away until he had created a mimicry of Zhongli, because a mimicry would never be enough.

Ajax loves him. He loves him so much, and yet..
It’s his fault.
He never told Zhongli.
Of course Zhongli betrayed him.
Because he never told him..
He..
He loves him..

“Childe!” 

Zhongli sits beside him, his hand just about touching the fingertips of Ajax’s gloves. The touch is ice cold and for a moment Ajax wonders if Snezhnaya has finally sunken into his skin, if he has become a part of the landscape.

“M fine, drank too much… Dottore probably laced it with poison.”

Zhongli tilts his head, although he doesn’t comment on Ajax’s words, clearly unbothered by his accusation. Instead, his eyes drift wayward, staring at a world Ajax can not see. Perhaps, he’s gazing upon Celestia herself, wondering just what he is supposed to do with himself now. 

Zhongli has always had a wistfulness about him, one which gives him the appearance of a man ten times older than the twenty-something year old he appears to be. Although, in retrospect, ten times may not be enough. An old soul, trapped in a young man’s body. A soul wearied by the world.

Zhongli looks tired almost constantly. Despite the porcelain of his expression, the perfectness of each minute detail of his appearance, he was never able to shake that shroud of melancholy from himself. It was one of the things which first drew Ajax to him, because Zhongli, just like Childe, is a facade. He’s not as well put together as he pretends, he’s just as broken as everyone else.

The consultant shifts uncomfortably on his feet, “do you mean it?”

“Huh?”

Zhongli sighs, long and deep. His cor lapis gaze lands, scrutinisingly, on the Harbinger, and his scarlet lips part with a whispered, “do you truly hate me?”

What a sorry sight this must look. A man who was once a god pleading to a wolf still sprawled out on the floor. The cool tiles begin to feel painful beneath his skull, leaching the warmth from his skin, feverish with drink. The strange, buzzing warmth has begun to fade in the knowledge that this is not a conversation he should be having now.

The ceiling spins away from him and Ajax reflects how sad it is that Zhongli has to sleep in such a horrible cell. He has always loved the stars, hasn’t he? With the constellations belonging to those long past.. When people die, they don’t become stars, and even if they do, stars can still die… But it must be a nice reminder, right?

“No, of course I don’t hate you,” Ajax flings an arm over his eyes, shrouding his view with a shield of darkness. “How could I? I'm in love with you.” 

It’s stupid, because he knows he’s said something wrong. He knows that he’s confessed to something he never would, but the fuzziness in his head is blinding him and he can’t quite figure out just what he has done.

The Fatui aren’t supposed to fall in love. Once the Tsaritsa claims them, and they belong to her, no one else is supposed to matter. The Tsaritsa is their queen, their archon, their goddess. Every other relationship, every other companion, can and will be sacrificed.

There are stories, thousands of them, about Fatui who have lost those they hold dearest. Arlecchino, in the House of the Hearth. So many of her children have been lost. Il Capitano and Natlan, and all those recruits with nobody to send their paychecks home too.

“Childe I-”

Ah, no it was none of that.
Ajax wasn’t supposed to tell Zhongli that, because Zhongli used him. Because Zhongli betrayed him. Because… Because-

“Why are you here! Just tell me why you’re here!” Ajax struggles to his feet, ignoring Zhongli’s desperate hand reaching out to help him get to his feet. He manages on his own, because he doesn’t need Zhongli, he never has. He doesn’t… He really doesn’t.

The consultant swallows grimly. His hair is swept into an unkempt braid, combed by nothing but his own, bony fingers. His shoulders seem less broad, somehow, as if his days spent rotting beneath the palace floors has worn him away like limescale on an old statue. Finally, finally, he takes a breath and lets Ajax share the globe on his back,

“I came here because I needed to sort out our grievances. Childe- I want more than anything for you to know that I am sorry, I am so sorry. I have- I wasn’t honest with you, and I realise now that hurt more than I could have possibly thought.”

It’s hopeless because all the stars in the sky are shining in his eyes. It’s hopeless because he’s nothing more than a sick man making a desperate plea. No longer an Archon, Zhongli is human in his mistakes. He’s not new to living, but he’s new to this. He has had to learn emotions and everything which makes someone human.

But he isn’t. His blood still runs Adeptal and he still doesn’t understand.
Ajax doesn’t want an apology.
He wants to know if any of it mattered, if Zhongli ever truly wanted him around, or if it was all part of the ruse.

His hands grip the door handle until his knuckles turn white from the pressure, and the words which escape his lips could be poison, “oh piss off.” 
When he opens the door, he does not turn back.

__________________

A pair of curtains in shimmering velvet let the light seep in. It’s the bright glow of noon, meaning it’s long since the birds sang and the aunties began to set up their stalls in the market square. The Palace rattles in that strange way old buildings do, as if the halls are rampant with wendigos, and the unmistakable scent of mildew fills the air. It only serves to make the headache worse.

Ajax throws his hands over his face, pulling at his cheeks. Hell, how much did he drink? His body feels like a personal inferno, every part of him burning up with a phantom sickness. Everything is nauseating, and he really wants a glass of water.

Ajax stumbles to his feet and manages to drag himself to the small ensuite in his room. He drinks straight from the tap, his efforts earning him some bitter relief. He just about manages to brush his teeth and completely ignores the mirror above his sink because the Ajax staring back at him will not be a pretty sight.

There’s a hum in the air and a tingling in his hands, which tells him that today holds some significance.

Ah, what was he supposed to do? Is that cloak ready yet? And why does he have such a strange, negative feeling? As if something unchangeable has happened? As if he has, somehow, ruined everything?

Nothing comes to mind, so Ajax picks the least agonising task of the day, and decides to head to the market. The walk is long, even with the use of the sleds and stable wolves. It’s easier to take the horses, but the sled provides a smoother journey and Ajax would rather not risk spewing his guts into the snow.

Surprisingly, the seamstress who despises the Fatui, has already finished the cloak. It’s just as handsome as he hoped, with a heavy, faux fur lining and golden embroidery showing, like a tapestry, beautiful images of Snezhnayan mountains and forests. Hopefully, it will suit Zhongli’s tastes. He doesn’t seem to be managing the cold very well in his weakened state, so perhaps the extra layer will offer some comfort.

He tips extra, although the woman does not seem any happier. 

Sometimes, Ajax thinks he agrees with the conscientious objectors who call themselves pacifists. The Fatui, truly, is wrong. There are people within, corrupted people, who kill for the sake of killing.

And there are people like Childe, people drawn to the fight, because bloodlust is exhilarating. The scent of metal, the burning feeling of pain on the skin, the air which only feels clear when it’s slathered in blood.

On his way back to the Palace, Ajax spots roseheads peering out the snow. They’re a pale pink, the same colour as the blush which Zhongli once adorned back when Ajax still hoped there was a chance of their relationship becoming… something more. The sight is so beautiful he stops in his tracks, almost forgetting the hangover.

Roses may have thorns, but they are fragile plants. Not nearly as hardy as most of the ugly flowers which dare to brave the cold. He has half a mind to steal them away before anyone else can see them, but he does not. Someone else deserves this moment of beauty.

Afterall, what Harbinger is allowed the sublime?

“Lord Tartaglia!” A recruit bows to him before he even reaches the inside wall. Ajax raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms protectively around the cloak he has hauled back to the Palace. The recruit does not jitter, nor seem nervous like most when facing a superior. They have a flask in their hands of a substance which Ajax hopes is just tea, “Her Majesty summons you.”

At once, an indescribable feeling fills Ajax, and he feels his expression break. Still, he is strong, he will not falter. He will remain impenetrable, powerful and sturdy and wolfish. 
Not a brute, never a brute. ‘Master Childe’ is a friend to all, just a friend with gaping jaws.

His hands will not shake on his way to the throne room. They will not shake.
Like the first time he saw her, his body trembles. His heart beats erratically, like a stammer in the chest. His bones feel brittle and weak and he is suddenly so incredibly small and mouse-like that he fears he will be consumed. 

The doors open, the Tsaritsa awaits, and her loyal Harbinger bows on hand and knee.

“Rise, Tartaglia. You are not in trouble,” she smiles a tortuous smile, that of a teacher staring down at a student they know will never be as intelligent as they are. That is the price he pays for being the eleventh, for being the lesser of them all. He rises, and swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Your Majesty, why have you called me here?”

“Yesterday, you told me something strange, my dear Vanguard.”

Oh. Oh shit. He didn’t. He didn’t offer the Tsaritsa his drunken rambles did he? Just what could he have said to warrant a meeting like this? Did he disrespect her? Did he say something unforgivable? And nothing can beat the shame of facing his Archon… inebriated.

Desperately, Ajax prays that some of Barbatos’s fancies have washed on her. Zhongli said the Anemo Archon appreciated wine, didn’t he? And the Tsaritsa has drunk firewater before, hasn’t she? Maybe it will be okay. Maybe she won’t mind- maybe-

“No need to look so ashamed, Tartaglia.” The Tsaritsa’s lip quivers with amusement. She gazes down on him fondly, like a mother bear with her cub. “You have not insulted me. You told me that ah- for want of a better word, ‘that bastard Zhongli revealed his intentions to you yesterday, so now you wish to take him home.’”

There’s a wall of fog barricading Ajax’s memories of the previous evening. He furrows his brow, before deciding it futile. Nonetheless, the Tsaritsa has given him an out. Zhongli needs to go home, answer or not. He will die if he stays in Snezhnaya; the gold is spreading, and only Liyue can fix him. Ajax may not have forgiven him, not truly, but he is no monster like his Fatui counterpart.  “That is true..”

There is no lying to an Archon, of course. The Tsaritsa sees straight through him, “don’t play me the fool. I know you remember none of it, but you were very happy to tell me.”

“I did?”

“Yes. On account of this, I’m going to stick to my promise. Morax may go home, so long as you go with him.”

Something within Ajax threatens to spill. He feels his throat close up with a wave of emotions he would much rather not feel. He is indebted, as always, to the Tsaritsa. Some call her callous, cruel, evil incarnate, for ruling the Fatui. But Ajax knows the truth, she is the goddess of love, she only kills when necessary. Still, he can’t help but ask, “are you- are you sure?”

“Of course.. Oh and Tartaglia?”

He’s already on his way to the door, despite not being dismissed. His legs wobble beneath him. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Be kind to him, he does not yet know what it is to be human.”

__________________

Ajax considers the Tsaritsa’s words all the way back to the dungeons. It’s true, on a surface level. Zhongli was born of the earth, he never had a guardian to teach him his morals, he used to be a dragon for goodness’ sake, but he has walked alongside them for thousands of years. Shouldn’t he understand by now?

What does it matter? Ajax is going to take him home.. Hell, he’s going to see Liyue again. The land he destroyed, the land which will never forgive him, but the land he loves. And the people there, how he cherishes them. The aunties in the market have kinder voices than the ones here, the merchants know him well and their merchandise still fills his dressing table. 

Ah and the food! Rarely has Ajax ever tasted such rich flavours. You just can’t find authentic Liyuese spices here, something he gravely missed. Even the tea was enough to help him forget firewater, ranging from the delicate floral tastes, to the bitter tang of smoked leaves.

Sometimes, he can still feel the phantom warmth from Liyue’s sun, or smell the salt of the sea in the air. It’s different from the sea back in Morespeok, although nothing will be quite as idyllic as the scent of his hometown.

The guards don’t even blink as Ajax throws the door to Zhongli’s cell open, daring not to dampen the grin stretching wide across his face. His arms are full, the cloak in one hand and a thermos of pelmeni to eat on the way in the other. He has the key to the ice shackles in his pocket, on omen of the freedom to come..

“Zhongli! Your knight in shining armour has come to take you back home!” It’s a stupid thing to say, but he doesn’t care. Zhongli is going home! And he’s going with him! Ah- Ajax should really tell Scaramouche about this, maybe they could meet up in Liyue when everything in Inazuma is over: he wants Zhongli to meet his friends and-

“Zhongli?” The thermos spills from his grasp as he rushes to the consultant’s side. Zhongli lies on the mattress, curled in on himself. Gold seeps from every vein, every pore. It is not radiant. It looks like the agony of burning in the core of a star. It looks like the pain of pouring molten metal down your throat.

It looks like the rage of death. Not the peaceful, slumbering kind. This is the death which rips your limbs apart, the death which takes and takes and takes simply because it can. This is the death which causes the agonies, which wants, pleads, for pain. He does not move, and for a heartstopping second, Ajax wonders if Zhongli really is dead.

“Fuck-” Ajax takes him by the shoulders and shakes him, “fucking wake up!” 

His shouts are meaningless. Zhongli does not move, does not open his eyes. His body is far too cold, like those of the horses they find frozen in the mountains. Frantically, Ajax presses his fingers, hard, against Zhongli’s neck.

There’s a pulse.
Zhongli is alive.

Ajax is careful in his movements as he places the cloak around Zhongli’s shoulders, praying it will warm him somehow. He feels like that boy again, the one staring out at the Abyss, not knowing what to do. He feels freshly plunged into some new Hell, one where the possibility of losing Zhongli, the only person he has ever truly fallen in love with, could be a reality.

This isn’t supposed to happen.
Zhongli is an Archon, he’s supposed to live forever.

Ajax has always expected to be outlived by everyone he has ever met. Being a Harbinger is more than a death sentence. He will not defy fate like Il Dottore, nor exploit the vulnerable for the wealth to stay alive like Pantalone. He is no doll. He is a warrior, a wolf. And no matter how vicious they are, wolves always die first.
He’s supposed to die first.

“Wake up.” It’s useless. He won’t wake up. Why? Why did he come here in the first place? He’s still an Adeptus for heaven’s sake, he could have broken out if he wanted to. He may have lied to Ajax, he may have whittled away at that tentative trust Ajax was only just willing to extend.. But he is still the first person Ajax has ever loved.and apology or not, explanation or oblivion, Ajax will still love him all the same.

Zhongli’s form slumps against him and he feels lighter than he had all those days ago when Ajax lifted him from the snow. That doesn’t make it any easier to carry him up the dungeon steps. The decision need not be called a decision, it was obvious that he was going to do it from the beginning. Zhongli is going to get back to Liyue whether as a corpse in a wooden box, or as a man with a beating heart.

“Lord Tartaglia, what’s going on?” The guards standing by the doorway regard him wide-eyed. He practically barges past them, shielding Zhongli’s face from their eyes. They do not get to see him like this. Zhongli is strong, powerful, it’s one of the things which Ajax adores about him. Every movement for him is effortless, every strike of his polearm, every cube of geo he forms, springing from the ground. These actions are practiced and precise and so, so perfect. He’s the best fighter Ajax has ever known.

“Ready the sleds,” is all he manages, voice hitching slightly at the end of his words. The guards nod, following after him, and all Ajax can do is run up the stairs and pray. He reaches the stables and carefully places Zhongli snug atop a pile of furs whilst the guards ready the wolves. 

He’s steering towards the docks before the hour has passed. It’s strange, those seconds of stolen time, as the wind roars in his ears and the wolves whine against their tethers, pulling faster, closer and closer to the freedom of a ship. They seem to sense his urgency, kicking their legs powerfully into the snow.

He keeps Zhongli close, until the sensation of icy cold leeches into his own furs. The cloak he bought does little to help. Zhongli is a frozen sun, drenched in a gold which is quietly leeching his life away. 

The last time Ajax thought he would lose him was moments before Osial attacked. He had tried, as unsuspectingly as he could, to convince Zhongli to spend the day away from the Harbour, but of course the consultant had not listened. He was spending his morning in the city with Hu Tao and in retrospect, it was obviously because he wanted to protect the Director.

But the terrible thought had crossed Ajax’s mind that his plan could backfire. What if Osial could not be stopped? What if Zhongli, the ever self-sacrificing Zhongli, had tried to stop the Sea Dragon? What if he had been caught in the cross-fire?

After his battle in the Golden House, Ajax had spilled the contents of his stomach into the sand. In part, this was due to the Foul Legacy, but more so the fact that he couldn’t find Zhongli. No amount of running around, even in Ajax’s weakened state, could amount to him finding his dear consultant. Of course, that was because Zhongli was Morax, and he was handing over his gnosis, and really Ajax had no reason to worry…

But this is different. There is something more agonising about this, because if Zhongli dies, Ajax knows there is no possible way he will be able to recover.

The air eventually turns sharp with the scent of seasalt, and it stings Ajax’s lips. The wolves are tiring, their steps slowing despite the bribe of food he offers them. They will have to make do, because they can not stop, not now they’re so close to the docks…

“Childe?” The voice is groggy, faint as a wisp in the wind. 

The Harbinger snaps around and faces the ex-Archon with his eyes still closed. His head sins slightly into his cloak and the journey seems only to have weathered him more, but the sound can not have been imagined before Zhongli’s lips are parted and clouds of breath form in the air in front of him.

“Zhongli,” Ajax exhales. He reaches for the consultant and places the back of his fingers against his forehead. Zhongli’s burning up, but a fever is the least of their worries. 

“I… I apologise," Zhongli’s voice sounds so frail that Ajax is almost afraid it will disappear entirely. “You should not have had to… deal with this..”

“No, don't say that. Of course I was gonna help you. Look, just stay alive and then you can apologise for anything you want but-” 

“Childe.”

It’s only his name, but that is enough to signify the end of the world. That is enough to tear Ajax apart, that is enough to make the porcelain shatter and the foundations collapse and everything… everything fall away. Ajax wants to scream. He wants to cry out, he wants to vomit into the snow, he wants to shake Zhongli by the shoulders until he opens his eyes again and promises, promises like all those contracts he so reveres, that he’s not going to die.

“Zhongli… please don’t.”

“I did not get to finish my piece yesterday. Childe, I came to Snezhnaya to… to apologise to you, because I cannot see a life where we are enemies. I spent the days after Osial wandering the streets like a free man, I no longer had the burden of a title on my shoulders… I found it did not matter, I felt just as trapped, just as.. as restricted as I have always been. It was because you weren’t there, Childe. I wanted to ask if we could start over, if you could somehow forgive me…”

Truthfully, Ajax does not know what to think.

He has waited so many months, believing for so long that Zhongli did not care at all, that Zhongli hadn’t even realised he had hurt him… But he was aching too.

And then, the words spill from Ajax’s mouth before he can stop them. He means them, every last one. Zhongli may have betrayed him, may have destroyed all the trust he had left, but Zhongli came back for him… Zhongli cares about him, Zhongli wants him around. Zhongli “I forgive you. I forgive you a hundred fucking times over. Just don’t die, Zhongli. Swear to me you won’t die.”

“Childe..”

No. No he won’t hear this. Zhongli will not die, no matter what he thinks. They’re going to get to Liyue no matter what. “You’ve got to live, okay? Cause when we get to Liyue I want you to spar with me. You have to say yes this time, it’s.. It’s the only way I’ll accept your apology."

“Fine,” a quiver of amusement forms on Zhongli’s lips, “when we get to Liyue, we can fight.” 

__________________

Ships from Snezhnaya to Liyue tend to take a week to arrive at port. The Tartaglia fleet takes three days. Ajax isn’t sure if because of the pure willpower of the sailors, or because they saw how antsy their captain was, but he has never seen anyone row so quickly (and certainly has never felt so seasick).

Zhongli falls asleep moments after they board, leaving Ajax to haul him off to the Captain’s quarters. He gets the bed, of course, Ajax won’t be sleeping much anyway. Usually, these voyages are some of the only times Ajax can truly relax and calm his aching limbs. Usually they’re a week of peace, with no demand of orders or enemies to familiarise oneself with, until they reach the docks. 

He tends to stay out on deck, once everyone has already dispersed into the cabins, and watches the constellations above, or the roaring waves below. Whether he looks or down, there is an expanse which lasts forever. Sometimes, he feels as if he could lose himself in it forever. How he envies the Fontainians and their ability to sink beneath the depths, where the water does not threaten to freeze you… And the Traveler, journeying across different worlds, with a freedom which is infinite.

Zhongli hates the sea. He hates the sky too, because to him every star is a soul long gone. In that way, he is caged, just as Ajax is. They’re both tethered to the ground, with their ships that never leave port. It will ache tremendously if Ajax loses that: his only ally, his only companion who could ever know what that feeling of entrapment is like.

If Zhongli dies, Ajax will never be whole again. Although, he hasn’t been able to call himself ‘whole’ for a long while, not since the Abyss stole more from him than the Fatui ever could. A wolf is not whole, it is a creature, so far from the human it should have been. But that wolf has built a life for itself, that wolf is surviving. That wolf has lapped up every shred of kindness it could find, coming to him in the form of a dragon. Without that, he will surely starve.

Even if he never sees Zhongli again, even if he never hears from him, even if his face slips from his memory, so long as Ajax knows the consultant is alive, then he won’t mind. He would sacrifice everything for that, really.

The first night passes, and Ajax does not leave his cabin. He stays by Zhongli’s side, doing all that the on-board doctor told him too (there isn’t much: “make sure he’s getting fluids and keep him warm”).

The extra blankets are thick enough to hide Zhongli’s shivvers, but Ajax can still see the way his shoulders shake and the strained expression on his face. It’s an expression he has only ever seen in the younger recruits, the ones who know they are inexperienced for the mission they’re sent on, the ones who give up on ever returning home.

If Zhongli dies, it will all be Ajax’s fault; Zhongli came to Snezhnaya to apologise to him after all. 

“You’re pacing, Tartaglia,” the kitchen staff tell him, when he finally steps out onto the deck to find his rations. Ajax ignores them, but he tries to make his steps a little lighter. It does little to appease their anxieties, but he has bigger things to deal with.

It might be better if Scaramouche were here. The man may be a pain, but at least he would be a source of familiarity, a candle amidst the dark rooms. Ah, he would be just as hopeless as Ajax, searching for non-existent remedies and cursing the Good Doctor for not having any.

The second night passes just like the first. Ajax feels his eyes begin to sting and the fatigue latch onto him, but he only doses for a couple of hours. He listens to the waves rocking the boat, their tentative calm filling him with dread. 

Frequently, he checks Zhongli’s pulse, pulls the blankets a little higher, and blinds himself with the light of gold. It’s foolish, because Zhongli is only sleeping, but at every second Ajax assumes he has died. Ajax assumes that it is all over, that he will never, never, hear Zhongli’s voice again.

By Hell, he misses that voice. The soft one, the one Zhongli uses when he’s truly enraptured by the topic of conversation. Sometimes, Ajax finds himself focusing more on the sound of Zhongli’s voice than the words. It’s uncountable how many times he had to ask Zhongli to repeat himself on their many outings in Liyue.

When night passes, the sailors point out the faint line on the horizon, which promises land is drawing near. Ajax purses his lips and says nothing, because he does not want to allow himself to hope. Hope is not at the foot of the Fatui’s foundations, hope is a rung in the ladder they forgot to climb. Hope is something which can make the harsh light of reality burn ever brighter.

Evidently, this lesson is lost on the sailors: the promise of land makes them row ever faster, even if their hands blister at the oars. Ajax almost empties the contents of his stomach into the sea for the second time that day, and retreats into his cabin where he can down a glass of water for the aching in his skull. 

They reach Liyuese waters, and still Zhongli does not wake.
Yeah, hope is a foolish thing.

__________________

Ajax isn’t sure what he was expecting really. Did he really think Zhongli was just going to open his eyes the moment they stepped onto Liyuese sand? Nothing has changed. Everything remains in that telltale half-light, that moment when no one can tell if it’s dawn or dusk. 

When they exit the ship, Ajax and one of the sailors carry Zhongli between them, carefully lowering him onto the seat of a carriage the Fatui stationed at the docks already have waiting for them. It has curtains, which is a blessing, because they shield Zhongli from any prying eyes. The Fatui have been sworn to secrecy about the gold radiating from a seemingly ordinary consultant’s skin, but rumors spread fast in Liyue.

Ajax isn’t sure where to take him. The Funeral Parlour? No, Hu Tao may raise a storm when she finds out Ajax has come back… Northland? Probably not… Ajax can’t explain this to the workers there, what if they figure out who Zhongli is? 

“I sense a disturbance.”

Ajax has to stifle a scream as anemo particles explode from the seat opposite him. Pathetically, he tries to shield Zhongli’s face with his arm, but his efforts are clearly futile.

“Is that my Lord?” Xiao, the conqueror of demons, asks. His arms are crossed and a pensive expression consumes his face. It has been such a long time since Ajax last saw this particular Adeptus, the one who swears himself to be the most loyal to Rex Lapis, the one who would stick by Zhongli’s side through anything.

“Can you help him?” The desperation in Ajax’s voice is unbecoming of a Harbinger and he is certain to regret it later. How could he possibly have come to care for someone to this extent? To the point where his emotions spill like candlewax?

He never thought he would ever care for anyone save his family. He never let people crawl into his life and take a piece of him away with them. Even his closest companions, even the Northland Bank workers, are people he is willing to sacrifice. 

But not Zhongli, never Zhongli. Ajax will do… anything, to stop that poisonous gold from spreading any further.

And so, he faces Xiao with the eyes of a hopeless man.

“His condition is not as grievous as you might be thinking. Lord Lapis is no fool, the moment you arrived in Liyue he was already beginning to stabilise. I will take him to Jueyun Karst, the geo energies there are more potent..”

“I’ll come with you.” What a traitor Ajax is. He can feel that fluttering of hope in his chest, the one he swore to himself he would never feel again, not after the Abyss, not after Ma tossed him out to the Fatui. Yet, a wave of calm washes over him; a warmth smothers him like a blanket, it’s alright now, Zhongli will be fine.

“No. Lord Lapis will be upset with me if I allow you to travel so far in your… state. You must get some rest, and I will…. keep you updated,” clearly, it’s an effort for Xiao to get the words out. He must still harbour much distaste for Ajax, which of course is not unreasonable. Ajax did flood his country, and despite Zhongli’s involvement, Xiao will never direct his fury towards his dear Lord Lapis.

That doesn’t matter. There are more important things than Xiao’s distaste for him, such as the fact that Ajax is not going to ‘rest’. He’s a Harbinger, he’s survived more days without sleep than anyone. Besides, his health is not as important as Zhongli’s… Zhongli who was actively dying in Snezhnaya because of him. 

Just as he opens his mouth to say as much, Ajax feels the floor of the carriage dissolve beneath his feet. He struggles with his vision, creating a hydro barrier around himself, but in the next moment his boots hit solid ground and a whisper of anemo rushes past his ears.

Teleportation? Well fuck.

He takes a moment to assess his surroundings, taking in the scent of silk flowers and sandalwood. He’s inside a room with lavish, maroon coloured seats pressed into all four corners. Each have heavy curtains behind them, and moving them aside reveals a view of Liyuese countryside. Sunkissed grass, soft and subtle shapes in the distance which can only belong to the mountains and the lazy ocean waves far ahead. 

It’s a sight so far removed from the sharpness of the ice, and the lakes heaving with bloated bodies, that Ajax almost loses himself in the reverie of it all.
He doesn’t, the deluge awaits, but even a Harbinger of higher ranking would see the futility of the situation. He will not reach Jueyun Karst like this.

He lets the curtains fall close, and a somber quiet fills the room. It’s comforting as much as it is nauseating. He craves the quiet, the respite from days at sea, from the anxieties clawing at his head, but he can not dispel that hollowness in his stomach.

The weariness begins to sink in. Ajax drifts around the room, not worrying to stifle his yawns. Piles of books heave in their surplus on the many shelves. He picks a tome, flicks through it, and places it back into its dust-coated cage. He makes his way to the grandiose fireplace, where the ornaments catch his eye.

Oh.

He recognises them, every one of them. They’re the trinkets Zhongli demanded him pay for. There’s the geo dragon he bought, and the cor lapis butterfly pin, and the mother of pearl mirror and the useless box Zhongli couldn’t even figure out how to open…
All of them. Every last one. 
Strangely, the sight pulls a smile to his lips, the first one in a long time. Zhongli kept them.

He should have guessed this was Zhongli’s house. What sorry excuse for a Harbinger is he, not to realise? His essence lingers in the corridors, phantom footprints pressed into carpet. Everywhere is clean (despite weeks of dust which has accumulated in the time Zhongli was in Snezhnaya) and orderly yet heaving with all the material things belonging to a dragon’s hoard worth six thousand years. 

How has Ajax never seen this place before? It seems.. uncannily deserted, as if Zhongli seldom visits. Perhaps, this is a place separate from his apartment in the Capital? A quieter, calming space, filled with everything he holds most dear.

It almost feels like an invasion to be here, inhaling the same air Zhongli breathed. Still, Rex Lapis’s most devoted follower wouldn’t have sent him here if he didn’t believe his Lord would be affronted…

Strangely domestic images fill Ajax’s head as he explores the house. In the kitchen, he imagines cooking beside Zhongli, teaching the consultant his Ma’s favourite shashlik recipe. In the study, he watches pretend versions of himself reading over Zhongli’s shoulder in the light of the dying fire.

It’s a pretense. An idle daydream. A Harbinger can never have a quiet life; what awaits Ajax is a path of destruction with no friend save violence to be by his side. Even if Zhongli returns his affections, their lives would not be so easily entwined. Zhongli would have to wait to hear news from him during his Fatui missions, unknowing if Ajax has been slaughtered like he knows he one day must.

He can’t do that to Zhongli, to a man who has already lost so much. To a man who almost died trying to keep the Vanguard by his side.
If Ajax dies, he doubts Zhongli will be able to handle it.

What’s that legend? The one about Morax and the goddess of Dust? They say when she died, Morax slept for a hundred years, unable to carry the weight of her loss.

Yet, Ajax is selfish. He would do anything, anything, for that dream. To be by Zhongli’s side. To grow old together (something he knows is impossible for a man with Adeptal blood). It would be nice to live as everyone else does. It would be nice to have a happy ending.

Time continues to pass and eventually, Ajax sleeps.

__________________

Ajax awakes a day and a half later with a pounding headache and a bitter taste in his mouth. A day and a half? He has never slept that long in life, not even after his Foul Legacy transformations… The weight of Zhongli’s condition must have been weighing on him.

Standing up, Ajax just about manages to make the bed, although it’s messy in comparison to the neat way Zhongli had left it (he opts to ignore the fact that he slept in Zhongli’s bed). He retreats to the ensuite, fixing the snarls of his hair and preparing himself for the day ahead.

Despite the extortionate amount of sleep, there are circles beneath his eyes and he carries himself in a way unbefitting of a Harbinger. Pantalone would be upset with his inadequacy, but then, Pantalone finds dispute with everything Ajax does.

He leaves the bathroom in the same sorry state, with half a mind to pen a letter to Scaramouche to at least give himself something of a distraction, when he’s stopped by the soft clearing of a throat.

“Childe.”

Hesitantly, Ajax turns to face the newcomer. Zhongli, who else could it have been? He stands by the door in an awkward fashion, one uncharacteristic of a man always so put together. No longer is his hair unkempt, and in his lighter Liyuese clothes, he doesn’t seem quite so frail anymore. If anything, he seems whole save for the dull golden glow beneath his gloves.

It’s not quite relief which seeps into Ajax’s bones. He has an inkling, a terrible one, that this Zhongli isn’t real, that none of this has happened, that it has all been some vague nightmare and he will wake up back in Zapolyarny Palace thousands of miles away. He pinches himself and feels the pain. Reality does not crumble and Ajax has to accept that maybe this is real, maybe he did just travel half of Teyvat to save the man who tore down his foundations. Maybe Zhongli did apologise, and maybe Ajax did forgive him.

“You’re alive then?” The words emerge sharper than he had intended. A wolf must always show his fangs.

“I must offer you my gratitude. I can assure you that my condition is stable now that I am within the reach of the Ley Lines. I must admit that I feel weaker than I did before, although I presume that’s for lack of a gnosis… Oh- and you did provide me with the most lavish of cloaks; truly, I will cherish it always..”

“Idiot.” Ajax grumbles, slinking off to the consultant’s side. He places a hand on Zhongli’s shoulder, just to make sure he’s really not an apparition, that he is alive. Zhongli’s skin is solid, real. 

The consultant sighs, long and deep, and Ajax feels an inkling of dread. Conversations will follow; they will sort through this, fix it, but Ajax has never been one for talking. If only they could sort this out with a sparring match, that would be much more exhilarating. “I’m sorry Childe.”

Conversation wins, because Ajax won’t deny Zhongli anything. “I just.. I wish you hadn’t come to Snezhnaya, I should have… we should have talked it out in Liyue. You almost died because we didn’t.” 

There’s a slight twitch in Zhongli’s brow, a minute expression Ajax has come to learn means perplexion. He stares with a faint sort of grief, his words emerging as a whisper. “Did you.. Truly believe I was going to die?”

“Zhongli you didn’t wake up for three days.”

Zhongli’s voice is soft, the words carefully chosen, as if he’s afraid to upset Ajax. He steps away so they are no longer touching, and his eyes crinkle in a whisper of apology. “I made a promise not to, didn’t I?”

“Well yeah, but-”

“A promise is as good as any contract.”

No. Ajax is no fool, Zhongli was.. Zhongli was dying… He’s a Harbinger for goodness’ sake, he’s not the type to worry unnecessarily. Zhongli is trying to downplay this and they both know it. He’s always been reckless, getting close to a Harbinger in just proof of that; perhaps, he underestimated his Adpetal form, perhaps he thought he was stronger than he is…. “Well what was that on the ship then?”

Zhongli opens and closes his mouth several times before finally deciding on, “hibernation.”

“Bastard.”

Zhongli takes the safe route and opts to extenuate the joke. He, like Ajax, isn’t ready for the conversation. They will talk about it soon, Ajax will make sure, but he lets Zhongli off the hook, if only to spare them both from the agony of the past few days. “I do not believe that term can be used for me. I was born of the mountains so to speak, I had no parents, certainly not unmarried ones.”

“What does that even mean, Zhongli?”

“Ah, a story for another time… I was wondering, would you like to accompany me to Wamin restaurant? As an.. Apology I suppose, for what I have put you through.” 

__________________

Ajax’s return to Liyue is not taken well by the inhabitants still blaming him for the flood. Some however, mainly the market sellers he invested so much mora in, and Hu Tao, seem content enough to wave to him as he passes. The Director in particular practically claps him on the back when he visits Wangsheng.

He flits back into old habits, buying whatever shiny object catches Zhongli’s eyes, visiting the workers at the Northland Bank with whatever new dish Xingling has created, and clearing the landscape of any monster threatening the city.

And eventually, they talk things through.
Zhongli tells him that his haste to apologise made him foolish, that he hadn’t expected his body to be unable to take the weight of losing a gnosis.
And in return, Ajax tells him he forgives him.

He has a week, at the least, before Her Majesty will expect him back in Snezhnaya. That’s ample time to discover just what it means to be the most hated person in Liyue. Restaurants close their doors to him (although Wamin accepts him and his huge bill, quite possibly because he dares to stomach Xingling’s experiments); Ekaterina sighs in fond disbelief when he hides from the Millelith, and he spends most of his time avoiding the Qixing.

Although, things aren’t half as bad as they could be, with Zhongli by his side. The consultant seems to emit a radiating warmth, as they flit back into their regular routine. On one occasion, he asks Ajax to go with him to Wangsheng, and the trip makes up for the weeks of agony he caused the Harbinger.

Hu Tao screams at Zhongli. It’s a brutal, bloodcurdling noise which makes Ajax want to slam his hands over his ears and laugh at the expression of abject horror on Zhongli’s face at the same time. The poor man looks just about ready to keel over when she delivers her speech

“Terrified, Zhongli! I was terrified! Ya know you could have left me a note or anything, but no! Ya just left. You’re not getting paid for this, by the way. Although I suspect Mister Childe will be perfectly happy to pay for you. Oh yes, welcome back Childe by the way it’s nice to see you again, even if ya did flood the Harbour. Well, it brought in plenty of business for me and-”

Ajax smiles from the back of the parlour. He spends the rest of the day in Zhongli’s office, sipping tea and watching him fill out his paperwork, it’s the best vacation he’s ever had.

They return to Zhongli’s apartment, the city one which is slightly smaller and more modest than his home in the countryside. It still presents a proud impression of luxury, with striking wallpaper and tapestries adoring the walls, looking as if they belong to a different age (which they honestly could). 

Ajax never bothered to book a hotel, and Zhongli never bothered to kick him out, so he stays as a permanent houseguest. There’s something comforting about being in Zhongli’s home, about living in the same space, which makes him wish he never has to go back. 

The Fatui preaches a lot of things. The most important thing is to hold people at an arm’s length. You’re not supposed to care about people because then they could be used against you. It’s why no-one knows of his family, and why he has never allowed himself to love someone before.

Ah, but he can’t help it.

On his last day in Liyue, before his imminent return to Snezhnaya, Zhongli sends him on some useless endeavour to rid the plains of hillichurls. It takes most of the afternoon to make a dent in their numbers, but Ajax is laughing by the time he’s painted the grass red.

He returns to Zhongli’s apartment to the scent of food. It’s a rich, hazy sort of smell which fills the corridors with aromatic spices. It smells like home. Not the Palace, but his seaside town. It smells like the market square in Morespeok. Fresh fish, dumplings, sour cream and honey cakes.

His heartbeat quickens when he steps into the kitchen. Zhongli leans over a pot, stirring a boiling concoction, his brows furrowed in concentration. There have been many times when he’s confessed to Ajax his inadequacy in the culinary realms. It’s clear the task is taking his every effort.

“Zhongli..” Ajax whispers. The consultant snaps around, cor lapis eyes softening. “What is all this?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow… I wished to… give you a proper send off.”

Zhongli places the food on the small, window side table. Ajax can see the sea from here, the same sea which reaches the mouth of Snezhnaya. A distant land across the same ocean, a promise that they will always be connected. Every dish is Snezhnayan in origin, and it’s clear that Zhongli has researched every item carefully, from the immaculate way he’s presented them.

He sits across from Ajax, and for once there are no chopsticks to worry about. He smiles, a rare display of emotion saved only for the Harbinger, and waits to see Ajax’s reaction as he shovels a forkful into his mouth. It’s good, of course it is, Zhongli can perfect anything he puts his heart into.

Zhongli did this all for him… Zhongli cares, truly, about a wolf such as Ajax. How? How can anyone care for someone with such bloodlust? Someone who holds no remorse in his killings? Someone who destroys and destroys and destroys.. 

But Zhongli has killed too. Zhongli is Morax, the godkiller. The reason the sea is lined with the dead. He can not be placed on a pedestal. He is, was, violent, just as Ajax is.
And it’s that imperfection which makes Ajax evermore smitten.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Ajax blurts out, over the pelmeni.

Zhongli does not twitch, does not flinch, does not even blink. He merely sets his fork down, from where it was hovering in the air, and offers a tiny nod. “I am aware.”

Ajax feels his eyes widen into planets. The steam from his dumplings tickle his chin as he stares at Zhongli, lips slightly parted. “Huh?”

“Well you told me.”

“I did?” Ajax splutters. 

“You did.”

“Oh..” Why is Zhongli acting so casual about this? Does he not care? Does he not return Ajax’s feelings? Does he expect everyone to fall for him, being an Adeptus and all? Or is it that he doesn’t understand what Ajax is trying to say? What if Ajax has ruined everything? What if Zhongli was only stringing him along to be kind? What if this is the end of that faint reverie he let himself bask in?  “Do you uh- You- Do you..”

Zhongli furrows his brow, “had I not made my feelings clear? Yes, I feel the same way.”

“Oh.”

Now that Zhongli has said it, Ajax can’t understand. How can Zhongli love him? For Heaven’s sake, Zhongli almost died to apologise to him. Ajax isn’t worthy of that, not when he’s a wolf.

But Zhongli loves him. He’s not lying this time, there would be nothing to gain from it. It would not explain why he traveled all the way to Snezhnaya, why he risked his life for Ajax’s sake..
It’s true then.
Somehow, inexplicably, Zhongli loves him.

He takes a breath, and the floodgates open, “Zhongli, will you wait for me to come back? And when you’re adjusted you can come back to Snezhnaya.. I can.. Introduce you to it properly. You can meet my family, and Scaramouche and I can show you my favourite places, and taverns which would make Barbatos jealous.”

“I would love that, Childe.” Zhongli’s expression is so soft that Ajax wants to curl into it. He wants to hold onto it and never let it go. He wants it all for himself..
But isn’t that the best part of this? 
He can have it. He can have it all. Life has no limits and this is the most free he has ever been.

“Ajax.”

“Ajax?”

“It’s… the name my parents gave me.” It feels like a confession. ‘Ajax’ is the most vulnerable part of himself, the most real part. It’s a name known to such a small populus, that knowledge of it is something he has flat out refused to give in the past. Not even those closest to him in the Fatui know it. Scaramouche doesn’t, his squadron doesn’t, Ekaterina doesn’t.. But he doesn’t mind sharing this vulnerability with Zhongli, he has seen Zhongli’s weaknesses too, after all, coming in the form of gold against his skin.

“And you wish for me to call you that?”

“Yeah.. feels right.”

“Very well Ajax.” Warmth radiates from Zhongli’s hum, his expression is peaceful, as if he too cannot wait for this future they will share. “When you return, we shall go to Snezhnaya together.”

Hearing his name on Zhongli’s lips is something Ajax never realised he wanted, but it feels right. It feels… more than right. It feels like all he could ever need.

Ajax may be Her Majesty’s wolf, but his heart is human, Abyss and all.