Work Text:
“I have to go,” Childe murmurs. Zhongli clings to his back, nose buried in the collar of his shirt, resisting every attempt as Childe tries, futilely, to shake him off. “You of all people should know why.”
Against his neck, Zhongli huffs. His fingers curl around Childe’s waist, tugging him closer. Needy. “Yes, but I don’t see why it has to overlap with our anniversary. I could send your Lady a letter. Get you all to myself for a week or two. She’d let me.”
“And you know I’d be beyond upset at you for interfering with my work,” Childe returns. He’s not worried. He knows Zhongli wouldn’t, that he’s just caught in that in-between place where his draconic instincts rule. He always gets like this before Childe leaves for an assignment, rationality returning, he claims, when Childe is off Liyuean soil completely.
But for now, Zhongli is inconsolable, and Childe would be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly pleased by it. He misses Zhongli much the same when he’s off on his missions; despite his allegiance to the Tsaritsa, Liyue feels like home.
“But with so little notice?” Zhongli grips Childe’s shoulder and spins him, then leans forward to press a kiss to Childe’s half-parted lips. “She is cruel.”
Despite his rush, the suitcase open on the floor and his clothes scattered around their apartment, Childe stills at the touch. He runs a hand up Zhongli’s back to cradle his head, and Zhongli’s hands scrabble at his waist.
“Now,” Childe breathes, drawing away. Zhongli blinks at him as they part, golden eyes dazed, darkened hair pulled from its clasp. “Be good and let me pack?”
Zhongli—dear, lovely Zhongli—gives a very inhuman, halfhearted snarl, but he backs away. He clasps his hands behind his back, leaning against the side of the couch, and Childe narrows his eyes.
“Zhongli.”
“Yes, baobei?”
“Give it back.”
Zhongli’s face goes carefully blank, although he cannot hide the spark that lights his eyes, mischief and the thrill of being found out. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
“You’re asking for it, then—”
Childe launches himself at Zhongli, and they tumble backwards into the soft velvet of the couch. They end up sprawled across its length, Childe straddling Zhongli’s chest, pining Zhongli’s arms over his head. He presses on his wrists, and Zhongli gasps, his fingers splaying.
Childe’s Vision tumbles onto the couch.
“Got you,” Childe says, sliding down Zhongli’s body to press kisses to his neck. Zhongli gives another halfhearted growl, but he tilts his head back, and Childe licks at his throat. “It’ll only be two weeks this time. I’ll write letters.”
Limp underneath him, Zhongli only whines, his eyes wide and pleading.
“No.” Childe nips at Zhongli’s lips. “I have to pack. I have to go in ten minutes.”
Zhongli huffs and turns his face to the side. “Have it your way.” He’s delightfully flushed, and Childe cups one of his cheeks in his hand before pulling it away.
Golden eyes follow Childe as he scrambles to his feet, as he scoops a pair of clothes from where they sit folded by Zhongli’s careful hand. His mate is silent, alarmingly so, as Childe continues packing. When he finally shoves the suitcase close—he really doesn’t have much, just a few changes of clothes and some toiletries—Zhongli pushes himself up, looking forlorn.
“Baobei—”
“Zhongli—”
They meet with a hug, tender and soft.
“I’ll miss you,” Zhongli says, his warm breath tickling Childe’s ear.
“And I’ll miss you,” Childe murmurs. “But I’ll write letters. One every day. And when I get home, I’ll make it up to you, okay? I promise. Picnic somewhere in Minlin. Stargazing. We can look at rocks together along the beach.”
Zhongli’s laugh is soft, rumbling through Childe’s body. “That sounds lovely, baobei.”
Childe presses one last lingering kiss to Zhongli’s lips. “Then let me make sure I haven’t forgotten anything in our room and then I’ll be on my way.”
When he returns, Zhongli is gone, but the door to his office is closed and so Childe merely scoops up his suitcase and makes his way down to the harbor.
Inazuma’s port city of Ritou is chaotic. It’s far too small now for the amount of ships it takes in, and by the time they dock, Childe is absolutely sick of being so close to land yet so far from touching it. He’d jump off the bow and swim to shore—with his Vision, it would be easy—but electricity saturates the very air here, and it crackles as gentle waves lap against the hull. He has no doubt that, when night falls, the whole ocean will glow with bioluminescence and faint sparks of Electro itself.
But since Childe has no desire to electro-charge himself into a crisp, he stays aboard until they dock. It’s just a quick exchange, mostly to offload their cargo before finding a nice cove to anchor in, but Childe leaps onto the rickety wood dock along with the deckhands, suitcase in hand, and sets off past the city to find the Kamisato Estate.
Narukami Island is a strange thing, half-alive with how it all buzzes and shivers. Flowers hum as he passes, exuding a sweet-smelling pollen that tickles his nose. There’s strange stones here, too, shards of bright purple that sparkle and shimmer. It’s not unlike the Electro crystals he sometimes finds in Liyue, but these ones are inert but all the more beautiful for it.
The animals, too, are unusual. Bold. Raccoon-like, they stare at him as he passes, pushing themselves up onto their haunches for a better glimpse. Some wear little bandanas or scarfs. Others carry small pouches on their backs, so they can’t be completely wild.
“Don’t do that,” he says to one of them, and it nearly topples back in fright. “Your eyes will bug out if you keep staring.”
It chitters at him, scampering down from its rock, and pads alongside him.
He fakes a scowl. “I don’t have food. I don’t have anything for you.” But they are cute, so Childe pretends to sigh even though he’s pleased that the local fauna don’t find him too scary or odd. “You look like you could be a messenger,” he muses. “Could you take a letter back to Zhongli for me? He’s back in Liyue, of course, and you can’t swim that far, but it would be cool if you could.”
They pass through a decorated arch not unlike the ones that dot the paths of Jueyun Karst, and Childe decides he likes the creature. It’s not Zhongli, but it seems cognizant enough, and its presence both alleviates and exasperates his loneliness.
“I wish you could have come,” he muses, and the creature shakes its fuzzy head in response, its pack jangling. “If I was given more time to prepare, I’m sure Director Hu would have let you go. When’s the last time you left Liyue? Would the other Archons even like you?” And then a thought strikes him, much more pleasant than the pang of missing his mate. “Would you win in a fight against the shogun? Would I? I’d love to fight her.”
Childe’s stomach is empty and the sun is hovering over the horizon by the time the Kamisato Estate looms before him. His companion is long gone, vanished when Childe stepped out of one forest and into another, and Childe spent the rest of his journey in silence. Purple-and-gold trimmed walls enclose a peaceful courtyard, and a blond-haired man who introduces himself as Thoma leads Childe to his room.
“My lord will see you tomorrow,” he says. “He wishes to give you the rest of today to settle in.”
“That’s fine,” Childe says, flinging his suitcase onto a table. “Is there somewhere around here that has food?”
“I’ll bring you something right away.” Thoma gives a short bow and vanishes.
After so many days at sea, the ground sways under Childe’s feet. He slumps into a chair, exhausted but determined to wait for his food; he’ll be worse off tomorrow if he doesn’t eat. After some consideration, he figures he’ll unpack—he doesn’t have much, and he’ll be here for two weeks, anyway.
He cracks open the suitcase.
A small brown creature tumbles out.
It is a bit smaller than the messenger-raccoon that accosted him early in his hike, with a tail like that of Zhongli’s exuvia. Its eyes are golden, dreadfully familiar, and as it looks up and squeaks in indignation Childe leaps back.
“Tsaritsa—”
The creature growls, its tail lashing back and forth, its golden mane fluffing up. From its head sprouts two miniature golden horns; its snout boasts the nub of another. Red marks the corners of its eyes, much like the eyeliner Zhongli so prefers.
“Zhongli?” Childe asks cautiously.
The creature turns in a wobbly circle and tips onto its side with a squeak, stubby legs splayed in the air. His belly is lighter than the rest of him, brown fading to tan, and Geo markings trek up its limbs, much like Zhongli’s hybrid adeptus form.
This is not Zhongli’s hybrid adeptus form.
“You did not,” Childe breathes. Of all the forms to turn into—he’s needled Zhongli relentlessly, wanting to see his qilin form alive, not just a husk—and he’d known the Prime of Adepti has other forms, yes, but this—
Zhongli gives a helpful chirp from the floor, and Childe scrambles to scoop him into his arms.
“Of course,” he says, running his hand over Zhongli’s flank. His fur is thick, decadent, but his skin shivers under Childe’s gentle touch. “Of course. My bad. My fault, actually, for not realizing. Zhongli, you stupid, stupid man. Creature.” He holds Zhongli out at arm’s length, and Zhongli squeaks in fright, paws peddling furiously through the air. “You could have gotten hurt! What would have happened if someone stole my suitcase, threw it overboard? I had nothing important in there—save for you, of course, but I didn’t know you were in there—I wouldn’t have gone looking for it, and then the Lord of Geo would have met a sorry end at the bottom of the sea.”
He presses Zhongli close to him, cuddling him against his chest, and Zhongli’s damp nose touches his ear.
“I know, realistically, you are far from helpless, but Zhongli, am I not allowed to worry? My love, if you wanted to come, you needed to only ask. Does Hu Tao know?”
Zhongli squeaks at him, and Childe’s heart nearly breaks with the sweetness of it.
“You’re too cute like this,” he says. “Too cute. Would you sit on my shoulders like a scarf, xiansheng? Would you let me feed you bits of whatever Mr. Thoma brings back for me?”
Another squeak, and Zhongli wriggles out of Childe’s grasp to clamber atop his shoulders. He drapes the golden tuft of his tail over Childe’s chest, right over his heart, and starts up a rumbling purr.
It’s different yet so familiar, having Zhongli purr in this form. He’s purred plenty of times, yes, and Childe cherishes each time Zhongli feels comfortable enough to do so, but he’s so small now that his whole body shakes with the force of his happiness. Idly, Childe settles back into his chair, the suitcase forgotten. While he has some meetings tomorrow, he is here mostly as a threat, a warning that the Tsaritsa is all powerful and that she has not forgotten nor forgiven these lands for the death of her eighth harbinger.
Childe’s not worried. Whatever comes his way, he can handle, and Zhongli’s presence only makes him more confident of the days ahead.
When a knock sounds at the door, Childe unwraps Zhongli from his neck, earning himself a drowsy blink for his troubles. He doesn’t complain, though, so Childe sets him onto the plush chair and gives his head a quick pat.
He opens the door to see Thoma standing before him, basket in hand. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Lord Harbinger?” he asks, passing Childe the basket. Whatever’s inside smells delectable, and it’s clearly freshly made, for half of it radiates warmth, and the other, refreshing coolness.
“Actually, yes,” Childe says, perking up. “Do you have a blanket I could lay on the grass? And maybe… well, I’m not sure what’s in here, but is there something that’s not seafood?”
Thoma blinks. “I—I didn’t know you weren’t partial. There are egg rolls and vegetable tempura. Uh, a variety of cold sushi, some fish, but I can take them back if you don’t like them.”
“No, no,” Childe says lightly. “That’s perfect. Just the blanket, then, and maybe your recommendation for a good view that’s not too far away?”
“On the path toward Chinju Forest, there’s some good views. If you go far into the forest, that’s fine, but there are some bake-danuki in there, and they’re rather mischievous. They might try and nip your Vision off you, but they don’t mean any harm. I’ll get you your blanket now, sir.”
“No forests,” Childe promises, and Thoma gives another bow and strides off.
Childe ducks back into the room. Zhongli is awake, looking at him with expectant eyes, although he remains in his smaller form.
“Did you hear?” Childe asks, scooping Zhongli up into a hug. Immediately, Zhongli resumes his rolling purrs, and Childe laughs, delighted. “We’re going on a picnic! You’ll get your anniversary date after all. Although, Zhongli, will you ever turn back into a human? I suppose I can just imagine what you’d say—here, you’d go ‘Ajax, it’s not right of you to take advantage of your host’s generosity when you are here for business’, and I’d reply, with ‘oh, Zhongli, that’s the perks of being married to a harbinger’.”
Zhongli nips at him halfheartedly.
“Are you talking to me, sir?” Thoma calls through the door.
Childe goes to answer it, shuffling Zhongli to the arm hidden by the door. “No, just myself,” he says, accepting the patterned blanket. “Thank you.”
“Let me know if you need anything else,” Thoma says while Childe ducks behind the door in an attempt to shove Zhongli in the picnic basket. “I am at your service.”
“Will do!” Zhongli sinks his claws into Childe’s sleeve, and with a grunt, Childe tears him off, holding him by the scruff. He hangs limply, golden eyes furious, all signs of purring gone. “Behave,” Childe hisses. “I can’t walk around with you around my neck. It would cause too many questions. They already think I’ve killed you, I can’t add kidnapping to that.” Slowly, Childe lowers Zhongli into the open basket, and as Zhongli scrabbles at its edges, he snaps the lid closed. “It won’t be for long, xiansheng,” he whispers. Then he’s rushing out the door, blanket in his other hand.
He dashes past a bewildered Thoma, and Zhongli yowls, thrashing against the basket’s walls. They make it far enough that there’s some mist and a cliffside between him and the estate, and then he eases the basket open.
Zhongli shoots out, claws extended, blunt muzzle bared in a snarl. He crashes face-first into Childe, fastens his claws to Childe’s shirt, and trumpets his upset.
“Xiansheng,” Childe murmurs, stroking down his back. The golden ridges that protrude from his spine aren’t hard; they’re more cartilaginous, flexing subtly as Childe continues touching him. “I’m here. It’s okay.”
Zhongli warbles softly.
“I know, my love. I missed you too. But I really am happy you’re here, even if it is a danger.” Childe laughs, setting Zhongli on the grass. He picks up the blanket, and Zhongli scampers behind the basket. “Who am I to scold you on the danger? This is nothing compared to a couple of lawachurls.” The blanket unfurls, and Childe settles atop it, patting his lap. “Let’s see how much damage you did to our dinner, hmm?”
Their food is packed neatly, hardly damaged despite Childe’s rush and Zhongli’s near-rampage.
“We’re lucky,” Childe says happily, then clucks his tongue as he unwraps a pair of chopsticks. “Not these,” he mutters. “You won’t mind, right, Zhongli?”
Zhongli pads in an uneven circle around Childe’s lap. He presses his little paws into Childe’s knees, stretching toward the food, and Childe laughs.
“Yeah, yeah.” He forgoes the chopsticks entirely and picks up an egg roll, offering it to Zhongli. Tiny fangs pierce the small roll, and then Zhongli tears into it, shaking his head furiously in what is clearly an attempt to separate his bite from the main piece.
Childe laughs.
Zhongli releases his bite to sink his fangs into the tender flesh of Childe’s calf instead.
“Ow—Zhongli, you—” Childe drops the egg roll, and Zhongli swishes his tail in obvious satisfaction, swiping his tongue over his teeth. “What do you want me to do about it? It’s not my fault your mouth is so tiny—”
Zhongli growls.
“—and you can’t expect me to, what, take your bites for you?”
Zhongli sits up expectantly on his hind legs. His front paws hang limp beside his furry body.
Childe sighs, fond. Carefully, he bites into the egg roll, leaving a Zhongli-sized piece at the end. He offers it up between his fingers, and Zhongli snaps it out of his hand.
“Good?”
Zhongli chirrups.
They lapse into a comfortable silence. The wind rustles through the grass, bringing with it the soft scents of the forest. Below them, the blanket protects them from the scratching grass, and Childe sighs, content. What was a dreary two weeks of too little fighting and too much diplomacy is now a delightful vacation with Zhongli by his side.
When Zhongli noses his palm for more food, Childe selects an offering with great care. He bites first, then offers the rest to Zhongli, who eats out of his hand without question. When they reach portions of raw fish atop fragrant rice, even though they don’t have visible tentacles, Zhongli hisses and digs his claws so deep into Childe’s flesh that blood blooms from under his pants.
“Fine,” Childe gasps. “Just—get your claws off me. Are you going to be like this when you finally show me your qilin form, too? ’Cause I think I’ll actually die if you do that, and I’m very hard to kill.”
Zhongli regards him with a haughty tilt of his head.
“I’ll train harder,” Childe mutters. “Maybe I can train my skin to stone or my Hydro to heal. Come here, Zhongli.”
Soft brown paws press into Childe’s thigh, kneading the already-healing cuts. And, to his credit, Zhongli does look sorry. Childe doesn’t think his reaction to the fish was intentional, not with how austere he usually is about Childe and harm.
They watch the sun dip beneath the sea in silence. When the dregs of it flash green and then fade entirely, Zhongli lays his little head on Childe’s lap, purring.
“I still miss you like this,” Childe murmurs, tangling his fingers in Zhongli’s mane. “Is that wrong of me? You’re here, of course, but you can’t talk, can’t tell me about the constellations or those strange purple rocks or how the wind and waves made the cliffs just so.” He sighs.
With a huff, Zhongli pushes off Childe’s body. His paws dig into the soft flesh of Childe’s thigh, which makes Childe yelp—and he scampers to the center of the blanket. He snorts once, and then his form ripples. It expands, Geo energy distorting his body so strongly Childe cannot make out the exact moment when Zhongli changes, grows. Instead of a tiny creature of gold and brown, a very human Zhongli kneels, graceful as always. He lifts his head, and a small smile curves his lips.
“Zhongli!” Childe throws himself at his husband, and Zhongli catches him in a warm hug. “You’re human!”
“Indeed,” Zhongli rumbles. “I hope you know I intended to stay in that form for the duration of your whole trip. It costs me greatly to transform. You were exactly right with the dialogue you supplied for me, for what it’s worth.”
“You’ll have to turn back,” Childe says, although he can’t be too upset, not when Zhongli is here, truly here, real and warm against Childe’s body. “I can’t just explain away your presence.”
Zhongli huffs a laugh. “Do not worry about me, baobei. It is my own greed that led me here.” And he leans forward to take Childe’s lips in a slow, indolent kiss.
It is a kiss Childe could drown in. Zhongli kisses him slowly, thoroughly, like they are both immortal and time is nothing to them. His hands are warm and steady, and when he pulls away, his smile is soft and secret.
“Now,” Zhongli muses as he sits, as he pats the space beside him. “Where shall I start? The stars, baobei, even though they could not compare to the galaxy of your freckles? Or perhaps the unique rocks that form here, crystalline manifestations of latent power that are nothing compared to your strength?”
Childe goes to him, his husband. Tucked against Zhongli’s side, he is warm, shielded from the slight breeze that pushes its fingers through his hair. He rests his head against Zhongli’s shoulder, and Zhongli hums, a soothing rumbling not unlike his purrs.
“I think I will start with the cliffs,” Zhongli says, “for given enough time, even the earth yields to the sea.”
From their vantage point, Childe can see the waves glow as they crash into the shore, bright with Electro and the tumbling of a thousand tiny creatures. He snuggles closer to Zhongli, taking his hand. “Do the cliffs mind?”
Zhongli’s next words are shaped like a smile. “The cliffs embrace it, for without the lifegiving water, it remains stagnant and stuck in its ways.”
Childe huffs. “Flatterer.”
Zhongli’s laugh shakes them both, and his next words are of the amethysts that burst from the earth in droves, of the creatures of the forest and the stars above. They sit until a cool mist rolls over the sea, blotting out the glow, until the glowing of the waves are all but a distant memory. They sit until Childe’s eyes drift closed, until he pitches forward, every muscle relaxed by the gentle drone of Zhongli’s voice.
“We should return,” Zhongli murmurs. “You have meetings tomorrow. I’ve been selfish enough.”
“I don’t mind,” Childe says, but he stands and stretches anyway. “I consider this time well spent.”
Zhongli’s smile is soft as he gathers the basket. His eyes flick to Childe’s pants, and then to the blanket, and his smile drops.
Childe’s pants look like they’ve been shredded by an angry bake-danuki. The blanket, too, has several vicious tears reminiscent of Zhongli’s tiny claws, and, really, they both look beyond saving.
“We can’t do anything to fix it,” Zhongli says with a frown.
It’s bad enough for Childe to feel a touch guilty for it. He hopes Thoma won’t get in trouble for the loss of it, but he folds it anyway, draping it over his arm. When there’s no trace of their picnic left behind, Childe turns to Zhongli, a half smile on his lips.
“Zhongli,” Childe murmurs. “How do you feel about going in the basket again?”