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i. lumine, disappointment
“I think,” Lumine says, “that you cannot avoid him forever.”
It feels strange to see her like this, casually dressed. She picks under her nails, careless, flicking a finger in your direction.
“I am not avoiding him,” you tell her. “We simply have not – run into each other yet.”
“Of course,” she says, blandly. She tips her teacup, just shy of spilling the contents over the tablecloth without any respect for the fine glazed china, or the lovingly steeped tea. “Perhaps you are a coward.”
“You may call me whatever you like,” you say, reaching over to take her teacup away.
She sighs. Long, disappointed, grave.
“You disappoint me,” she says, shaking her head, “but then again, you have always disappointed me. Worst of all, you have disappointed Paimon.”
You cross your arms. “You may say whatever you like.”
“Stubborn old man,” she says, with the familiarity of an old friend, and when she smiles it is sharp and sudden. “You should come to my teapot.”
You look at her. She is ageless; her blonde hair curling against her face in the wind; her eyes crinkled in her laughter.
“I don’t like whatever it is you are planning,” you tell her gravely, “but as you are my dear friend, I will accept.”
“Cool,” she says, and ends your conversation by flipping your teacup into your lap.
ii. tubby, remembrance
You remember Tubby.
A teapot spirit you met, long ago, back when you were younger, wilder. In your senseless pride you had flattened mountains and hollowed hills. You destroyed as you created. As such was your youth.
She is the same as you remember. A kindly shape. A friendly voice. She does not remember you, but you do not forget. She invites you for tea anyways.
Lumine shows you her house. It smells of Ah Ping’s energy, her magic. It is familiar. Comforting. The atmosphere washes over you like a warm afternoon. It reminds you of Chihu rock in the reds and oranges of early evening. Like the quiet before the after work bustle. Haphazardly decorated, charmingly messy.
“Sorry about this,” Lumine says, gesturing to the open room before you. It is filled with folding screens and nothing else. “I promise the rest of the rooms are adequately furnished. Somewhat.”
“It is charming,” you tell her. She raises her eyebrows at you. “Your sense of decoration is fascinating.”
“You can stay,” she tells you, “for as long as you want.”
Behind her, the sun breaks through the horizon. She is haloed in gold, like a demon with her claws in ten schemes.
iii. tartaglia, friend
You stay.
You stay, wandering past the first bridge, then the second, then the third. There are buildings, here and there, dotted about the landscape irregularly. You unearth pots, lamps, a strangely constructed maze. You startle the boars and scare the cranes. You are contemplating jumping off a cliff, just to see what happens, when Lumine appears again.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hello,” you say.
From behind her, Childe peers over the jagged cliff edge. You have not seen him in quite some time. He looks well. His hair is still messy. His eyes are still dull. He doesn’t smile at you.
“I brought you company,” Lumine tells you. She is holding his hand. Her fingers curl in the spaces between his. They look like they fit together. “In case you were getting lonely,” she adds.
She pushes him towards you, before you are allowed to dissect the strange feeling building up in your chest. Childe bumps into you, his shoulder against your arm. He is warm.
“Hey,” Childe says, “I don’t think –“
“You’ll stay,” Lumine interrupts. She looks at you both, shoulder to shoulder. “Tartaglia, Childe, my friend. You’ll stay.”
Childe exhales. The way he tilts his head is achingly familiar. You had not realized this, but – you’ve missed him.
You’ve missed him dearly.
“I’ll stay,” he says. He looks only at Lumine.
iv. the moon, reminiscent
Childe sings at night.
There is only one bed. “You can have it,” he says to you, dismissively, and says nothing else. You don’t need to sleep, but you lie down anyways.
He sits perched on the windowsill. He sings in a language you don’t recognize, in a tune you have never heard before. It is not unusual for you to discover new music. It is unusual for you to discover a new language.
“I don’t recognize this song,” you say. Your voice is loud in the nighttime quiet. His voice tapers off into silence.
“No one remembers,” he says, eventually. He looks out of the window. You wonder what he’s looking at. He wouldn’t tell, you think. “I learned it when I was young. From the person who taught me how to fight.”
“Do you miss them?”
He pauses.
“Sure,” he says. “Sometimes I want to kill her,” he tells you, and he laughs.
“I hope you succeed,” you say.
He looks at you, finally. For the first time since he arrived. The moonlight dapples across his profile. You wonder if this moon is a corpse, too.
“After I kill her,” he says, “I’ll kill you, too.”
“I hope you succeed,” you tell him.
There is a long pause. He stares at you, from across the room. It is not a very big room. You can see the way he furrows his brows in contemplation.
“Goodnight,” he says, pondering.
“Goodnight,” you tell him.
v. childe, disillusioned
He sits in the open main hall in the daytime, painting little blocks of wood. When you ask him what he’s doing, he says, “I’m making a scale replica of Liyue. So I can destroy it successfully, this time.”
You kneel down next to him. Sunlight filters through the rafters. Dust motes float in the air. You think Lumine should dust her house more often. You think it would be very simple for him to ignore you completely. You also think he’s beautiful.
You pick up a paintbrush. He sneaks a glance at you, before going back to painting little white windows on his blocks. You paint the rooftops red. He gathers the other half of the little houses and paints the rooftops blue.
“I don’t think Liyue harbor has only blue and red rooftops,” you tell him.
“I haven’t started on the bougie part of town,” he says, not looking up. “For now, I’m heavily invested in Chihu rock. I want to make the perfect scale replica of Wanmin restaurant because they deserve it.”
“You’ve always been fond of Xiangling,” you say.
“She’s sweet,” he sets his paintbrush down. “She talks to me even though the rest of the people on the street give her dirty looks.”
You let your paintbrush fall. Splatters of blue cover mini-Liyue’s thriving urban sprawl.
“You’ve drowned the street,” he says. Amusement colors his voice.
“Now people will give me dirty looks,” you say.
“Sure,” he says. “Whatever will you do with their little dotted on eyes staring at you in reproach. Run away, perhaps?”
“Lumine says I’m a coward,” you agree.
He laughs. You’ve missed the way his eyes curve when he laughs. You touch your own smiling mouth, and you think, how obvious.
“She’s right,” he says. You smile at him. He doesn’t smile back.
vi. childe, magnanimous
He tries to slit your throat while you are asleep. Except you are not asleep. He also succeeds. Blood pools slowly out of your jugular.
“Ow,” you say.
“I hope it hurt,” he tells you, flicking his water blade back into condensation. His weight is heavy from where he’s sitting on you.
He rests his head on your chest. Listening, waiting.
“I don’t have a heartbeat,” you tell him.
“I know,” he sighs. “It’s comfortable like this. I hope you die.”
“I don’t think I can die from this.”
He clicks his tongue. “Oh well,” he says. “It would be boring if you died right now, anyways. Why don’t you fight me?”
You shrug. “I don’t particularly want to.”
“You keep saying that.”
“If I died right now,” you tell him, “it would be an almost ideal way to do so.”
“And what would be the ideal?”
“Would you kiss me?”
He raises his head to look at you. “I only kiss people I love,” he says.
“Like who?”
“Tonia,” he lists immediately, “Teucer, Anthon. My parents. My older siblings. Paimon, even.”
“Not Lumine?”
He tilts his head. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem to love her.”
He laughs. “Sure. I love her strength. I love her determination. And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you love me?”
You think about it. “I don’t know,” you answer truthfully.
He smiles his narrow-eyed smile. “You really are a coward,” he says.
“Kiss me, then,” you tell him. Your blood cools against your skin. “Kiss me, and I’ll find out.”
He considers you.
“You don’t deserve it,” he decides.
That’s fair, you think. You haven’t done anything to earn his broken trust. His whimsical smile, turned to anyone but you. When he laughs, it is not with you, but at you. Even so, you find the sound of it lovely.
“I thought to give you space,” you tell him. “Some time to think and reflect.”
“Is that for me,” he says, slowly, “or for yourself?”
“I don’t know,” you say.
He smiles, slow and cold in the moonlight.
“You really are a coward,” he says, tenderly. He lays his head back down onto you. Hesitantly, his eyes flutter shut.
vii. childe, halcyon
“If you won’t fight me,” he says, “then let’s dance!”
Childe leans forward to grab your hands before you can say anything else. He looks pleased, having disappeared for a whole half of the entire day. He has leaves in his hair. He sings his unfamiliar songs in his unfamiliar dead tongue and leads you around in wide, sweeping circles.
He’s bored, you think. Going stir-crazy, chasing boars and cranes. You’ve seen him roll around in the bushes with the dogs; you’ve seen him still and quiet, sitting with the cats; you’ve seen him bother Tubby with his endless questions.
You realize you are killing him with your silence, though you’ve not had the time to sort things out, yet. You’ve always been slow, with these kinds of things.
You touch his rough palms, hold his calloused fingers. He smiles up at you, slow, languid. He’s given up the pretense of ignoring you. He’s waiting now, magnanimously patient. The sunset paints him in warmth. He rests his cheek against your shoulder, in your stiff embrace. The backdrop of greenery, the tranquility of the mountains, the quiet of a village home – he clashes wildly with all of it.
“I think you suit the snow,” you tell him miserably.
“There’s no snow in Liyue,” he answers lightly. He turns his head to nip your cheek, playful. You know you cannot keep him where he does not want to stay.
“Don’t look like that,” he says, softly. You end up swaying together, him wrapped in your arms. He rubs the crease between your brows away. You rub your thumb over his warm knuckles.
You allow yourself to be distracted by him. He still shoves you off the cliff, anyways.
viii. hu tao, illumination
“Yahoo, Mister Zhongli!” Hu Tao waves at you wildly, from where Lumine is marching over gravely from across the grassy field. You look up from the rickety bamboo table you are sitting at, greatly alarmed.
“Hello,” Lumine says, looking amused in her usual unimpressed way. “I brought you a visitor. Where is Childe?”
“Working on his scale size replica of Liyue,” you tell her. She raises her eyebrows. You shrug.
“He pushed me off a cliff,” you tell her truthfully, “and now he won’t talk to me.”
“Ooh,” Hu Tao says, “what romance!”
“You think he likes me?”
“I think he lo-o-o-oves you!”
“Hold on, hold on,” Lumine says. “I think we are maybe going about this the wrong way. Zhongli, have you talked to him?”
“Yes,” you nod, “I talk to him almost every day.”
Lumine narrows her eyes. “Have you talked to him about how you feel?”
Silence.
Lumine exhales. Hu Tao laughs, not bothering to hide her smile behind her palm.
“Why do I even bother.” Lumine rubs the crease between her eyebrows. Hu Tao leans over the table with her ever-existing flair for the dramatics and love for a good story.
“So,” she sings, kicking her legs out behind her and making the entire table wobble precariously, “tell me about you and him!”
“There is,” you tell her, “nothing to tell.”
“Oh Mister Zhongli,” Hu Tao says. Lumine throws her hands up in the air and walks away, ducking into the mansion. “You are such an old fool.”
Usually these things slide off your skin. Impermanent words from impermanent beings don’t bother you, truly. But when it’s Hu Tao, you can’t help but to bristle.
“It’s not that easy,” you say, sourly.
“One day,” she says, waving her palms in the air, “I was walking down the street of Chihu rock.” You groan. You’ve heard this tale too many times to count. “I heard her first: the melodious tinkle of her bell. She was lovely that day, lovelier than ever. I couldn’t help it: the sweat on my palms, the sudden flare in temperature. I had to speak to her! I had to tell her how I felt!”
You sip your tea. It is now desolately lukewarm.
“I walked up to her, quietly! And then – BOO!” Hu Tao slams her hands into the table. The table, like you, seemingly cannot withstand her. It folds its snapped legs and crumples to the grassy ground. Your reflexes are fast enough to save the teapot, but why bother. It’s lukewarm, anyways. Tea splashes down your front. You take another sip of lukewarm tea.
“Yes, yes,” you say, almost impatiently. “I don’t see how your repeated story-telling will help me in any way.”
“Oh, pot, kettle!” Hu Tao points at you accusingly. “I haven’t gotten to the good part! Anyways, after I scared Xiangling into beauteous submission, I got roasted by Guoba. It took me months to regrow my eyebrows, in which I took the opportunity to pickle the plum blossoms that were falling off our good old plum tree in the backyard. I gave them to her, and she forgave me, and now I think we will be wed on a lovely summer evening!”
“I am failing to see the connection,” you tell her.
“Shush!” she says, putting her hands on her waist. “As I was saying, it took me months to prepare something that I thought was worthy as an apology. But the decision to do so, it only took a second! So what have you prepared, huh, Mister Zhongli?”
“Oh,” you say, finally understanding the point behind her endless prattling.
“Sometimes,” Hu Tao says, “it is just that easy.”
The tea on your pants start cooling uncomfortably. Hu Tao looks at your grimacing wince and starts cackling.
Your head hurts.
ix. zhongli, revelation
After Lumine and Hu Tao leave, you find him sitting in the main hall. He is dotting little round ink eyes onto the small wooden figures cradled carefully in his hands.
“Childe,” you say.
He glances up at you briefly. Then he goes back to dotting eyes in that carefully furious way of his. You are, perhaps, getting emotional whiplash from his fleeting warmth and sudden cold.
“I–,” you start, and it is like the emotional flood of the millenium, for as Guizhong said: what goes in must come out eventually, and you have thousands of years worth of repressed emotions, perhaps even worse than Xiao.
“–just wanted to say that although your color scheme is, as a whole, completely at odds with the calm village landscape, I think that perhaps out of your uniform you would look very much at home here, and I am not one jump to quick assumptions– although I would very much like it if you would stay– just as food for thought, that when I mention that I mean I think you should stay. Here. With me. Though I do not want to put any pressure on you– the decision is yours and yours alone to make, I do have to mention that I have the deep-seated fear that one day the atrocities that I have once committed in the name of the betterment of Liyue will one day catch up to me in my silent moments of reprieve, and it would be fair if you did not wish to be a part of that– but if you did agree to stay here, with me, I would like to say that it would be an honor, and I would greatly look forward to our life together, and–“
When you finish, you realize that Childe has wordlessly set down the little wooden people he has been working on all throughout your incomprehensible speech. A little wooden Hu Tao peers up at you mockingly with her inky dot eyes, holding hands in her idyllic lovely relationship with little wooden Xiangling, placed right next to her.
He is gaping at you. You stare at him, completely cowed and extremely miserable. These are the times you wish Guizhong was not scattered around you in dust motes. And you haven’t even apologized yet.
You take a seat next to him. He whips his gaze away from you back down to his sprawling urban landscape of Liyue harbor. For a cold, wretched moment you feel as if you have made the worst mistake of your six thousand years of life. Then–
“You could have just said: I like you Childe. That would’ve been easier, I think.”
You look at him. He does not look back at you, but the redness of his ears betray him. You allow yourself a moment of self-satisfaction at this side of him that you are allowed to witness.
“I cannot believe you basically asked me to marry you,” Childe says, still not looking at you, still blushing, “but you somehow still manage to evade apologizing to me.”
You are about to launch into another incomprehensible, panicked speech, before he stops you with the brightest smile you’ve seen on him in a long while. Your breath catches in your throat; your voice comes out strangled, and you say, miserably: “I think I love you.”
The look he gives you is like the sun.
“Okay,” he says, quietly, “okay,” and then he’s fisting his hands in your lapels and hauling you down for a kiss. You knock against his mouth inelegantly.
Your fingers curl together. He rests his head on your shoulder, laughing.
“You should meet my family,” he says, muffled against the fabric of your casual suit. “But first you’ll have to beg me to forgive you.”
“Okay,” you say. “Will you forgive me?”
He considers you.
“Yeah,” he says. You nestle yourself against him. He is warm and brilliant and you want to keep him forever.
“Why are your pants wet?” he wants to know.
x. ajax, beloved
Lumine is looking at you.
You don’t know if it’s disgust, pride, weariness, or some unholy mixture of all three, but she taps her foot against the floor and says, “please don’t break my bed again. It takes me fourteen hours to make a new one.”
“My apologies,” you say solemnly. “Childe squirms around a lot.”
Lumine grimaces. Childe stifles a laugh. “Okay, don’t tell me that. But congratulations are in order, I think. Congratulations. Also, lovely scale replica of Liyue you have here. Can I keep it?”
Childe accepts the praise with a smug tilt of his head. “Sure thing, my dear friend. But I just have to add these.”
Lumine watches him set the last two little wooden figures down carefully. She smiles. “Cute.”
“Very,” you agree. You kiss the back of Childe’s hand, your lips on his knuckles.
In the tiny scale replica of Liyue harbor, you see familiar faces on familiar streets. But perhaps you are biased, for your favorites are the two newly added figures of the mighty eleventh Harbinger and the gentlemanly consultant of the Wangsheng funeral parlor, hand in hand, strolling down the streets of Chihu rock.