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It almost feels strange to be here.
Childe has made a habit of loving Zhongli from afar that it feels strange to be standing in Liyue, at the peak of Jueyun Karst, for the first time in nearly a decade.
Their moments together are fleeting, better spent tucked away at Zhongli’s home in Yujing Terrace by the warm, roaring fire. Childe will cook. They will eat at the table, knees knocking together as they sit side-by-side. Childe’s still terrible with chopsticks, and Zhongli is still opportunistic in guiding him with a gentle touch, fingers dragging across broken and calloused knuckles. Later, Zhongli will read to him either by the hearth or in bed, both options just one part of a well-worn routine. Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat.
Relationships are damn-near impossible for a Harbinger, but Childe persevered. He’d told Zhongli they’d make it work, and it was hard; they had their ups and downs, their annoyances and aggravations, and heartbreaks.
Somehow they made it.
And here he is, now, waiting. Parting ways has never been easy for them. Lingering touches, too-long kisses, fingers hooked around each other as they do their best to delay the inevitable. But duty always calls, and it’s always Zhongli who steps away first, who forces Childe to take that step back and go home.
Home. Childe’s gut twists. Snezhnaya hasn’t been his home for so long. His home is with Zhongli. It’s found in those stolen days together, in those lazy mornings spent lounging in the sheets, and the late nights of catching up.
Long distance, Tonia always called them. She’d click her tongue and say, “Ajax, you see me more than you see him.” And she doesn’t know, she doesn’t grasp that it’s not just the separation of space, but it’s safety too. Zhongli and the Tsaritsa have always been on friendly enough terms, but it’s a friendship with rules, and contracts can easily be amended. He and Zhongli might be an open secret and they’ve been allowed to tiptoe around as long as it doesn’t cause problems, but—
Childe drags a hand down his face and chuckles. That doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? The air in Jueyun Karst is sweet-smelling and fresh, and its warmth tickles Childe’s skin, and that’s when it truly settles in: he doesn’t have to go back. He’s free, and so he’s here, ready to rest, to settle in, to live out the rest of his life without a timer tick-ticking his return to work.
“Ajax.”
Childe turns at the sound of Zhongli’s voice, and oh, the sight of him. To see him, to hear him, to have him right there. Childe sprints across the space, closing the gap, pulling Zhongli to him.
“Fuck, you’re here,” he breathes. “I’m here.”
Zhongli laughs, pressing a hand against the back of Childe’s head. “The winter was long,” he murmurs, sharp claws dragging through the thick strands of Childe’s hair. He noses at the length of Childe’s jaw, scenting him, soaking up the feel of Childe, the weight of his body against his.
The winter was long, indeed. It’s been years since Childe was last able to meet with him properly. The last time lasted less than a day, barely long enough to share a meal and a walk along Yaoguang Shoal before parting. As the years wore on, Childe had less and less time to indulge.
“Long and cold.” Childe chuckles bitterly, shaking against him. “Even for me. But—”
“But,” agrees Zhongli, interrupting him, “spring is here. It is warm in Jueyun Karst, and you are finally mine.”
Childe’s throat bobs. And that’s the rub, isn’t it? Decades of dancing around each other, of stealing the time that they could, of letters penned, and gifts sent instead of visits, and Childe is finally, finally here. Here.
“You amended the contract,” says Childe, still in awe of Zhongli’s negotiation skills. “You could have warned me.”
“And risk your Tsaritsa refusing my request? Ajax, I could not bear to dream and have it not come true.”
“But—”
“But,” says Zhongli again, mirroring their earlier exchange with a soft laugh, “I made a convincing argument.”
“Which was what, exactly?”
Zhongli hums softly, still petting his hair, still clinging to him. “That your work was finished. That she no longer needed you.” The same very thing that Zhongli told himself when he decided to hang up the title of Archon.
Harbingers do not retire. It is a known fact. Conscription into the Fatui is a lifelong endeavor to begin with, but to be a Harbinger is to sell your soul to the state. And yes, yes, every Harbinger has their own motives, but ultimately you bend the knee for Snezhnaya, and the Tsaritsa’s expectation for loyalty is absolute. For her to let him go…
“What did you offer her?” asks Childe.
“Nothing,” replies Zhongli, but Childe knows him and knows that tone, the fleeting, airy gasp with words in between words. Childe peels back to give him a severe look, and Zhongli sighs, relenting. “Nothing of consequence. Nothing that you should worry yourself over.”
Which means that Childe, should in fact, worry over it. But, before he can retort, Zhongli stills him with a finger against his lips. “We’ll talk about it later. This isn’t the moment.”
That is true. Childe kisses the tip of Zhongli’s finger, letting the thought rest. But later—oh, he’ll hold Zhongli to it. Which Zhongli knows.
Zhongli’s expression melts into something warm, affectionate. “Your hair,” he says, reaching up to tug at a lock of Childe’s bangs. “Look at all the silver.”
He’s been graying for a while, but it’s certainly noticeable now. “Yes, well, I’m old.”
Zhongli scoffs, moving to cup Childe’s face next, thumbing over the crow’s feet that crinkle the skin around his eyes. “Distinguished,” he corrects. “Well-seasoned.” And then his voice dips lower, quieter, his golden eyes twinkling. “It makes you all the more handsome.”
Childe’s heart churns. Heat rises in his breast, and he tips forward to kiss Zhongli. Finally, he thinks, their mouths meeting slowly and sweetly. There’s nothing sordid about it; just a warm, gentle touch as they hold each other close, tasting each other, reacquainting themselves. Zhongli’s grip on Childe’s face is firm as he holds him there, as he licks into Childe’s mouth, searching, seeking.
Gods, Childe’s missed this. Archons, he thinks. His Archon.
His scent must shift, because Zhongli pulls away, amusement coloring his lips with laughter. “My mate,” he purrs. “All mine. Always mine. Forever mine.”
Childe’s old now. His joints ache, his spine is a little bent, and he’s all salted auburn curls around the ears. But he feels young, affection hot in his chest, pleasure creeping up that crooked spine.
“Home,” says Childe. “I’ve come home. I’ve hung up the sword, and I’m calling in a permanent Friday.”
Zhongli’s gaze sharpens. He looks like a dragon indulging in his hoard, which, fuck, Childe has always loved that too. “Come Ajax. Let’s go enjoy ourselves.”
They don’t go; they just stand there and kiss again. And kiss and kiss and kiss, the day melting away around them as they lose themselves entirely.