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Swear I feel you in my memory, I think I've seen you in dreams
Maybe you and I have history, but I don't think you know me
Have we met before? Maybe in another life I knew you
Maybe if I try, I'll see right through you, and I'll remember who we were
Have we met before? Maybe in another time I loved you
Maybe you're the one that I would run to
Don't know why it's all a blur
I think I know you.
Zhongli always knew that humans had a sadly short lifespan.
What he didn’t anticipate (but should have) was that Childe, daring as he was, a fighter, as he was, as reckless as he was, would have an even shorter life than most.
He had planned it all to the detail: how he would follow him to Snezhnaya, explain that their time together had meant everything to him, that it had turned his world upside down, that Zhongli would have done it all again; the plotting, the contract to end all contracts, faking his death-everything, if it led to meeting him. Childe would forgive him, then, and Zhongli would get down on one knee, as people apparently did in this time, and ask him to marry him.
Childe would have said yes, of course, and then… then Zhongli would have given up all the thousand years he had yet to live, so he could live one last life as a mortal man, with the person he loved.
But instead… instead he destroyed the highest peak in Snezhnaya, on the day Childe died. Snow fell and fell in a landslide that devastated everything in its path, covering forests and villages in pure, glittering white.
If felt as if the world, somehow, ended. A white page lay, untainted, where their story should have been written.
“I did not know” the Tsaritsa said, as she found him standing in the midst of the disaster “, that your feelings for Tartaglia ran so deep.”
Zhongli does not turn to look at her. There’s a burn behind his eyes that he hasn’t felt since Guizhong died. Sharp, scalding needles that pierce his skull from the inside, a weight, heavier than a mountain, settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Snow falls around them, softly, soundlessly, and Zhongli can’t help but wonder: was it this painful the first time, too?
“I did not know, either.” He admits, finally, and his voice sounds hoarse, foreign.
“Well, no use in dwelling on it now, it’s too late anyhow.” Her voice is feather-light, like the ringing of a bell, and cold like the ice on which they’re standing.
Zhongli turns to her then, and there must be something in his face -what, he does not know- because her clear, diamond eyes widen for a second.
“Is it?” He asks, and he does not feel like the Prime Adepti, the oldest of the Archons, Morax, the god of war. He feels only like a man; as lost, lonely, and confused as any other. “It is ironic” he begins “, that when I’m finally able to feel what mortals feel, I find myself… miserable. Is it this, what mortals feel?”
The Tsaritsa takes one step towards him and begins to extend her arm but drops it before she can reach him. Her eyes reflect the setting sun, and, for a moment, they seem almost warm.
“Sometimes, it is. Sometimes they feel joy, too, and pain, and love. They’re volatile things, humans. Tartaglia was volatile like that, too, even more so.”
“He was… I had never met anyone like him.”
“You could meet him again.” She says suddenly.
They stare at each other wordlessly, snow falling over them like an immaculate blanket, bright like fireflies against the dark of Zhongli’s hair.
“It is forbidden.” He says finally. “I cannot…”
“You’ve followed the rules for six thousand years.” Her tone is cold again, freezing the air around her with every word. “Did you think I didn’t know that she came back? Did you think I did not see her, too, in that white-haired woman who now rules your kingdom? She was there, right in front of you, and you did nothing.”
“It is forbidden, I…”
“Hush!” Her white hair seems to disappear against the snowy background, her face, pale and delicate as a white-rose petal, is dusted a soft shade of pink, as the only giveaway of her anger. “It is forbidden, it is forbidden… You are no longer an Archon, you were willing to give up your adeptal energy, too. Why would you still care for what is forbidden?”
Her words are harsh, they hit Zhongli like a cold gust of wind. Why, indeed, would he still care? Why, when Guizhong is still walking amongst the people she loved so much, with another face, another name? Why, when he was forced to watch from afar, never saying a word, with longing wrapped tight around his throat like a chain?
“The one good thing about having given up your gnosis, Morax, is that the laws of gods no longer apply to you, but you are still powerful enough to bend the laws of men.”
It is strange that it’s her, as frozen as her heart is, who forces him to make the decision to follow his own.
*
There are not many old friends here, in this new world. Not many that remember him, at least.
The Adepti have long retired to the forests and oceans at the far end of the world, as far as possible from the evolution of mankind. He has heard nothing from the other Archons for a very long time. Only the Traveler comes to find him occasionally, wherever he is living at that moment. It is them who tell him if they’ve seen Childe in their travels, if they’ve caught a glimpse of his elemental energy somewhere. It is pleasant to see them, but the Traveler never stays for long in one place.
Then there are Xiao and Barbatos, who seem to follow him around like lost puppies (or rather, follow him around as if he were a lost puppy). They are adjusting to the new world a whole lot better than he is, Zhongli thinks, as he watches them walk down the street towards him, all dressed up in this new, inexplicable fashion.
“You’re wearing a potato sack.” He comments as soon as they’re near enough to hear him.
“It’s a hoodie!” Venti exclaims, spinning on the spot while he grins.
“It looks like you’re drowning in it.”
Xiao looks away as he tries to suppress a laugh.
“It’s called oversized, it’s how humans wear them these days.”
Zhongli wans to comment that it does not surprise him that Barbatos chooses to follow the trends of humans, but he does not understand why Xiao does, too. He shrugs instead. That’s one thing he has learnt in the past three hundred and fifty years living amongst humans: if there’s something you want to say, but sense that it could upset the other party, it’s better to just nod and shrug. Shrugging can save you from many uncomfortable situations.
“It’s still amazing how you managed to dress the same as always without having people think you’re a weirdo.” Venti says, as the three of them start walking towards the restaurant.
“I believe they do think that I am a… weirdo, as you put it. But my students say that it does match my profession and my personality, somehow.”
“Of course, in order to teach Ancient History, you need to dress like ancient history, too.”
Venti crackles at his own joke, while Xiao sighs and shakes his head, and Zhongli remains stoically looking forward.
“How long until you have to move again?” Xiao asks.
“I have only been teaching here for five years, so I think it is safe for me to stay for another five, maybe ten, before people start getting suspicious of my… lack of ageing.”
They walk through the elegant sliding glass doors of the extremely modern (in Zhongli’s humble opinion) restaurant and are instantly accompanied to a table by a smiling waiter.
“And so” Venti asks, as soon as the waiter has left with their orders “, have you found him yet?
Zhongli sighs and his shoulders drop slightly while he shakes his head.
“I have not. The elemental trace of his spirit pointed me to this city, but it is getting more difficult to follow it as time goes by. Cities are getting too big, too many people, too many noises…. I am afraid that, if I do not find him here, the next time he reincarnates, I might no longer be able to track him.”
Xiao and Venti exchange a worried look, and the former Yaksha, very slowly, slides a hand over the table and places it awkwardly over one of Zhongli’s.
“You will find him.” He says.
“I don’t understand why it’s so difficult!” Venti exclaims. “You’ve been following him for three hundred years! He must have been reincarnated at least twice by now!”
“Oh, he has. But he is restless, even in his newer lives. As soon as I can find his elemental trace, he’s already moving someplace else. I spent the whole of his last lifetime following him around the world, until the trace died.”
“But now?” Xiao asks in a low voice, as if scared to speak.
“Now his trace has remained in this city for five years, but still… I cannot seem to find him.”
Zhongli deflates, and the other two men stare at each other in despair. They have been through this before, but they’ve never seen the former Geo Archon as disheartened as now.
“You still have time.” Venti says, trying to make his voice as light and lively as possible. “You have all the time in the world to find him!”
“But I am tired.” Zhongli murmurs. “I have never been as tired as I am now. I am not…equipped to deal with the changes in the world.”
“What do you mean?”
Zhongli smiles: a sad, tired stretch of his delicate lips, and Xiao notices, for the first time, that his once bright, molten cor-lapis eyes are dull.
“Erosion.” He murmurs.
“It is catching up to me, and I do not think I have the strength, or the will, to fight it anymore.”
Three hundred and fifty years is a long time to be looking for the person you love. Even more so, then you had already lived for another six thousand.
He parts ways with Venti and Xiao with the promise of meeting them again for dinner on Friday and the assurance that he will not do anything stupid, and takes the long way back to his apartment, walking along the canal and stopping occasionally to gaze at the calm, clear waters.
Had he been looking forward, he would have missed him: the man sitting at the edge of the low, stone rampart. A slender man, all long, lanky limbs, and a mop of tousled orange hair that Zhongli would have recognized anywhere.
The world, just as it seemed to end three hundred and fifty years ago, suddenly starts anew.
“Excuse me…”
The man turns his had to the side to look at him, and there they are: bright, blue ocean eyes that stare directly into his own. He looks slightly older, now, or maybe it’s just Zhongli’s memory playing tricks on him, anyhow, the sight is achingly familiar.
“Yeah…?”
They stay silently staring at each other for what seems like forever. There’s something like recognition in those eyes, yet Zhongli knows it’s impossible. Still, they’re focused on him as if he was, suddenly, the only thing in the whole world.
“Have we…” the man starts, jumping of the rampart onto the street, and walking up to him “, met before?”
“I…” Yes. Zhongli wants to say. Yes, I’ve been looking for you forever. There’s so much I want to tell you, there is… “I have crossed oceans of time to find you.”
That was probably the worst thing he could have said. The worst.
“Wha…” Blue eyes widen, and suddenly, too sudden for Zhongli to keep up, he bursts into laughter. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he’s doubled over, almost kneeling in the pavement, and the people that pass by glance as him as if he were insane.
“I… I apologize, it was not… I was not what I had meant to say, I was just thinking and it…”
“Oh, oh, please do not apologize.” The man straightens up, wiping at the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s not every day that a guy gets a handsome stranger recite the corniest line in Dracula to him, and kinda’ dressed for the part, too!” He looks back at Zhongli and shots him an all-too familiar grin. “It’s the coolest birthday present I would have never thought about.”
“Oh, is it…your birthday?”
“It is.”
“I should… I would love to… I mean, it would be my pleasure to… invite you to drink. Or dinner. Whichever you see fit.”
The guy looks at him for a moment, suddenly serious, as if looking for something in Zhongli’s face that even himself can’t really put a name to. Then extends his hand.
“I’m Childe.”
“Childe.” Zhongli murmurs, and the name rolls of his tongue warm and welcoming, like a long overdue embrace. “I am Zhongli.”
“Zhongli.” Childe repeats, smiling.
Zhongli cannot remember the last time he cried, but he thinks that, right now, he’s dangerously close.
*
Zhongli thought he would have gotten better at managing his mora, in all these years without Childe or Hu Tao to back him up every time he forgot his wallet, and he had, he really had, up until this particular night, when he encounters himself, once more, in a situation that was once extremely familiar.
“I am very sorry, Childe. I usually pay closer attention to bringing my walled, but it seems I left my office in a hurry and…”
Childe just sings the bill and grins back at him.
“Don’t worry, really, I am happy to invite you. It is my birthday, after all…”
In this life, as he has learnt during dinner, Childe is still incredibly rich. He said he sells toys for a living, and, when Zhongli pointed out that they must be really expensive toys, he just laughed, which made Zhongli think that maybe he was not talking about actual toys.
They walk out of the restaurant and start walking along the canal again, shoulders so close they’re almost touching.
“Hey.” Childe says suddenly, turning to look at Zhongli. “You said you were a teacher at the university, no? Shouldn’t I call you xiansheng, then? Isn’t that what they call professors here in Liyue?”
Zhongli stops walking. His feet, his heart, and his mind, they all come to a halt at the word. The word and the voice, and the smell of salt and ocean water. The sudden familiarity of it all hits him like a wave then, and he’s unable to keep moving.
“Are you okay?” Childe asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, yes, I… I have just had a feeling of… déjà vu.” As huge as an understatement as that is.
Childe similes, all dimples, and glittering eyes.
“I’ve been having that feeling all night, as if I know you from somewhere, you know? I just can’t figure out from where…”
“Childe.” Zhongli cuts him off, summoning all the strength he has. “I want to ask you something.”
The redhead nods, confused, and Zhongli’s resolution falters.
No. There was a time when he thought that if there was something he had; it was time. But time ran out, before. Time slipped through his fingers like melting snow, smooth but freezing, and he followed its trail until his bones grew weary and his mind grew tired and his hope dimmed like a burning candle.
He does not have time, now.
“Do you… will you… will you come home with me, tonight?”
If he says no, Zhongli thinks, I will end it here. If he says no, I will stop trying to outrun time. If he says no, I will accept that there are reasons for things to be forbidden and allow myself to forget.
“Yes.” Childe says, and his eyes- his eyes are brighter than noctilucous jade, brighter than the ocean surface, brighter than… “I was hoping you’d ask, so I wouldn’t have to feel like a creep.”
Zhongli stares at him stunned for a moment.
“Should I feel like a… creep?”
“Not at all! I just didn’t want to be too forward, but it’s okay if you are, I actually wished you were, like, I… you know? let’s just go.”
It should be strange, but it’s familiar. It should be difficult, but it’s easy. It should be complicated, but it’s simple.
Their shoulders brush now, as they walk, and they speak in hushed voices, heads bent together. It’s unnecessary but it’s nice. Laughter and conversation come easy, are they used to. They’re strangers that feel like old friends, in a new world that, right now, feels just like the old one.
When they cross the threshold of Zhongli’s fancy apartment by the Harbor, the world shifts in its axes. It’s unknown territory for both of them. They had danced around each other before; gazes that lingered too long, hand the strayed too low, conversations whispered too close. But there was a line that they never dared to cross, that they never had the courage, nor the time.
Childe’s the one to step on that line first, now. He grabs Zhongli by the lapels of his coat and pulls, crashing their lips together like a wave crashing against the rocks. It’s all instinct, after that, all hands that move on their own accord, hundreds of years of pent-up feelings, of anger and love and confusion and longing and pain, words unsaid translated into frantic touches and tongues meeting, sliding over skin, biting, sucking, drawing patterns of thousands of unwritten letters.
Zhongli’s coat and shirt have long been discarded when Childe hauls him up and manhandles him onto the bed. There’s a predatory gilt in his eyes, the same glint he used to have when he talked about battles and blood, now focused solely on the man sprawled on the bed under him.
“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” Childe murmurs, scattering kisses all over the ex-archon’s neck and chest, moving south, south, south…
Zhongli wants to respond, but, as soon as Childe reaches the zipper of his pants, words die in the back of his throat and all he can manage is a breathy moan. It seems to please the other male, because he chuckles against his navel, hot breath sending shivers down Zhongli’s spine.
I have been waiting lifetimes for this. Zhongli wants to say. He wants to recite poetry, wants to sing sonnets, wants to declare his devotion for the whole city to hear, but his voice is weaker by the moment.
“Childe.” Is all he manages to rasp when the redhead’s mouth descends on his crotch.
It should have been complicated, or strange, but it’s simple. They flow together like water, as if their bodies had known what to do long before their minds even begun to imagine it. Childe’s hands work him open as if they’d been doing it forever, and their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces finally falling into place.
It’s rough, and it’s hot, and Zhongli’s voice breaks, and Childe mouths sweet nothings onto his damp neck, then bites until he draws blood and every nerve in Zhongli’s body unravels, every vein throbs and every skin cell screams until Childe’s body is screaming with him, loud enough to drown everything else, to drown years and years of noises and static.
How did I think I wouldn’t find him? Zhongli thinks. I would hear this call from everywhere, anywhere, anytime.
When it’s over, still high, and hazy, they stare at each other through glazed eyes, and Zhongli sees the flash of recognition, fast to come and go, as a memory.
“Have we met before?” Childe asks again, still breathless.
Zhongli doesn’t know what to say, so he wraps his arms around the other man’s neck and brings their lips together once more.
They lay in bed, hours later, tangled in each other, and Childe’s hands never cease to run down his body, as if trying to memorize every contour, every curve, every small, hidden patch of skin. His eyes, too, travel up and down, staying longer in some places; his eyes, his lips, his hair as he runs his fingers through the silken strands.
“Childe.” Zhongli murmurs, voice heavy with sleep. “Is there something wrong?”
Childe shakes his head and bend slightly to peck him on the lips.
“Not at all, I just… I just think that maybe, if I stare hard enough, I will remember you, somehow.”
“You still think we’ve met before.”
“I know we have met before! Don’t think I go to bed with just anyone on the first date, xiansheng!”
Zhongli chuckles and buries his face in Childe’s neck, inhaling deeply.
“It wasn’t actually a date.”
“My point exactly!” His laughter is light and cheerful, and Zhongli can feel it reverberate in his chest. “We need to go on many dates. You need to tell me all about you.”
“I am glad.” Zhongli murmurs, raising his head to look at Childe, who’s popped on an elbow, staring down at him.
“Glad?”
“That you are here.”
Words are not enough to convey what he feels, what he wants to say, the years he’s been waiting, the hope he clang to, but Childe must understand, somehow, because he dips his head down and gives him a deep, lingering kiss that tastes like anger and betrayal, and forgiveness.
“If you keep saying things like that, I might never leave.”
Zhongli chuckles.
“Then I do hope you are prepared, for I have many sonnets I would like to…”
He’s cut off with a kiss, and it is totally, completely, alright.
*
From: Barbatos
To: GeoGranpa
Zhongliiiiiii it’s Thursday, are we still on for tomorrow???
From: Barbatos
To: GeoGranpa
I know u don’t like using your phone, but not answering is bad manners! Are we still on for this afternoon?
From: Barbatos
To: GeoGranpa
Okay, you’re beginning to scare me. Im going to ur apartment.
From: Xiao
To: Zhongli
Please, answer your phone, or any of Venti’s messages. He’s going insane. I’m quite concerned also. Please, call us back.
Voice message to: Barbatos
From: GeoGranpa
Eh…hahaha, this is Childe, a…. friend. Zhongli says the phone gives him a headache and asked me to tell you that everything’s okay, and that he’s sorry about missing out on dinner. But hey! We could meet up? I can invite you all to compensate for… kidnapping your friend. Oh, fuck! not kidnapping, I’m not a psycho, fuck, hell, haha…hey, Zhongli, please tell your friend you’re okay and I’m not a psycho?
Voice message to: GeoGranpa
From: Barbatos
AHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHH YOU GO GRANPAAAAAAAAA