Archive of Our Own

Later, when asked, Zhongli wouldn’t know how to answer what had driven him to Inazuma. It had been a whim, nothing more than a sudden urge to go somewhere. He remembered the moment perfectly, not because of his flawless memory, but for the simple fact that the impulse had been thoroughly foreign. Never before had he felt the need to leave and just go . He had never particularly enjoyed traveling, not even to friendly nations like Mondstadt. He’d always been content to stay put.

Not this time, though. This time, the itch to go wouldn’t abate. Why Inazuma, he couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps it was because he’d heard from Lumine everything that had gone down over there. Inazuman trade was slowly trickling back in, and their gorgeous wares at the market kept attracting his eye. He’d visited Inazuma a long, long time ago, back when he’d been Morax and not Rex Lapis the geo archon. He’d gone with Azhdaha, and he recalled with painful fondness how the two of them had gawked at nearly everything, from the trees to the buildings to the new types of rocks they discovered. Lumine’s vivid descriptions of the place brought back memories that Zhongli hadn’t touched in a long time.

And so, one morning after he’d received confirmation that sailing to Inazuma was no longer perilous, he booked a passage on the first outbound ship. His eagerness surprised him, and the fact that he was willing to spend money on such a frivolous adventure took him aback. He’d been getting a bit better at managing his own finances, but he was starting to learn that he needed to make choices. If he decided to impulse buy a nice trinket at the market, he might not have enough money to pay rent or get groceries. He had been able to save a few Mora here and there too, a feat he was quite proud of. The pile disappeared into the hand of the sailor he bought passage from, never to be seen again.

Still, past the initial pang of uncertainty, he found himself looking forward to the trip. Miss Hu Tao looked at him narrow-eyed, almost as if his eagerness was suspicious. Perhaps it was—he thought it out of character of himself too to be excited about this. 

The sea voyage took a couple of miserable days. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable sea travel was, especially for him who was so closely linked to the earth. Not being able to feel it within his reach was disconcerting. The miles upon miles of water stretching on either side of the seemingly-tiny boat made his stomach flip-flop. Even though he knew the ship was sturdy, the way it creaked ominously made him fear it could break down at any second. He hardly slept and didn’t manage to eat much. He kept to his cabin, the few other passengers not faring much better than he did. Most of them were travelling merchants hoping to do business in Inazuma, and even their gorgeous wares couldn’t make Zhongli forget that sense of wrongness he got from being far from land.

Inazuma hadn’t changed since the last time he visited, was the first thought that crossed Zhongli’s mind as he made his way down the gangplank and back onto solid ground. The sense of stepping into the past was so strong that he had to pause. He blinked hard, willing what his eyes were seeing and what his brain was remembering to differ. They did, but not enough to be comfortable. The buildings were the same. The road was the same. The trees were the same, only slightly bigger. Everything had been kept to excellent shape but, as he looked harder, he spotted, with relief, tiny signs of wear. Inazuma was a land that had been frozen in time, and he saw now how true it was.

Even the clothing the people wore was similar, though some of the younger ones appeared to be bringing subtle changes to it. 

The rest of the passengers from Liyue disembarked while he remained on the docks, trying to get rid of the clinging feeling of déjà vu. He somehow kept expecting to turn and find Azhdaha standing by his side, gawking, the same way he had so long ago. With the feeling of familiarity came an unexpected wave of nostalgia. It hit him square in the chest, stealing his breath. He remembered standing on that exact same spot and reaching out for Azhdaha’s hand, squeezing it to reassure him as much as to reassure himself. What country bumpkins they must have looked like, sticking out like sore thumbs amongst the uncaring throngs of traders and natives. 

His fingers flexed. Closed on air. There was no one beside him whose hand he could take. Although the docks were full of people, he stood alone. He felt it keenly, the stabbing pain of loneliness that he surely should have grown used to now. He pressed the heel of his hand into his breastbone, willing his body to settle. Despite that, there was no urge to turn back and leave. He wanted to stay.

If he wanted to stay, he needed to take it one step at the time. 

After taking in a few deep breaths, the world settled around him. He focused on the discrepancies between what he was seeing and what he was remembering. That street vendor hadn’t been there the last time. That shop hadn’t had a window on this side. This part of the docks had been narrower, made for fishing dinghies rather than for cargo ships. 

The tightness in his chest eased. He closed his eyes, breathing in the briny air of the ocean, letting the unfamiliar odours of Inazuman cuisine fill his nostrils. 

Once the administrative side of his arrival was dealt with, he was finally allowed into the city. The bustle was different from back home, a little more subdued. He saw that many shops were half-empty, their wares clearly local rather than imported. People had a sort of tired look about them too. They behaved politely enough, but Zhongli sensed their wariness towards strangers. He spotted a handful of foreigners, people he guessed from their garb to be from Fontaine.

In the distance, he could see his fellow archon’s palace stretching above the treeline. It had been there back then too, but that time he’d visited he hadn’t met its occupant. The young Ei hadn’t been an archon then. Her sister had ruled, a tall woman with a good head on her shoulder and her heart on her sleeve. Ei had been shy and a little withdrawn, a pale shadow to her impressive sister. Zhongli remembered her shyly approaching him once, her purple eyes huge and her face red with embarrassment. 

What he saw reflected what he’d sensed from that young girl: fear, uncertainty, no sense of place in the world. Ei had become Baal against her best wishes, and her losses had cemented her heart against everything. It had trapped her fears inside, letting them grow and fester. She had withdrawn into herself, away from a world that had taken too much from her. Because of that, everything and everyone else had ceased to matter. According to Lumine, she had let Inazuma go to the brink of ruin without lifting a finger. The Fatui had run rampant, alongside more natural disasters such as the eletro energy getting out of control and that storm around her islands threatening to fold in on itself. 

Things have calmed down now. Ei was coming out of her shell, slowly regaining control over her powers and her land. Zhongli wasn’t sure how long it would take for the damage to heal. The Vision Hunt Decree had taken its toll on her people too. So many had lost their Visions, and alongside it their will to fight and their ambitions. He had no idea if giving the Visions back would fix anything or simply precipitate their user’s downfall. 

He spent the first couple of days of his stay exploring Inazuma City. The inn he stayed in was situated right in the middle of the city, making it easy for him to go back and forth. He rediscovered back alleys and food stands and gorgeous little shops full of local curiosities. He didn’t talk a lot, glad to merely listen to stories and to observe the flow of life. 

On the third day, he left the city to explore the countryside. He only had the vaguest of ideas where he would sleep that night, but he didn’t let that bother him. As an adeptus, his body could withstand cold and harsh weather, so while sleeping under the stars wouldn’t be pleasant, it wouldn’t be fatal either. There was a sort of freedom in simply wandering the country roads, too, one he’d completely forgotten in his new daily routine. As an archon, there had been little that he loved more than simply wandering about, letting his thoughts drift as his body went through the motions. 

The Inazuman countryside had mercifully changed from what he remembered. Trees had grown, fields abandoned while new ones were now in use, villages had been erected while others had been burned. He saw traces of the recent troubles Lumine had mentioned too. The villagers were thin, haggard. There weren’t that many men since most of them had fought during the rebellion. There were a lot of wandering samurais too, men with dark eyes and a hungry look about them that made Zhongli avoid them. 

In the late morning, he stopped by the side of a road to gaze at a spot where a small village used to stand. His memories showed him a handful of wooden houses and an inn built of the local stone. There had been a well and a few fruit trees. None of this remained. The houses had been burned to the ground and the inn was nothing more than a pile of rubbles. One solitary tree stil stood, its branches twisted and its bark nearly all burnt off. 

He had stayed here with Azhdaha during their visit. The innkeeper had been a grey-haired man with a welcoming smile and half a dozen children underfoot. The room they’d been offered had been narrow and small, the rafters actually low enough to brush the top of Azhdaha’s head. It had been stiflingly hot too, no wind providing any relief through the tiny window. The futon had been lumpy, the blankets smelling damp. But it wasn’t what Morax had focused on at the time. All his attention had been occupied by his companion, so much that he hadn’t noticed much of the dingy little inn. They’d barely slept that night, and not only because of the terrible heat.

Zhongli blinked. The phantoms of the past disappeared, leaving only the sorry sight of the remains of the tiny village. What had happened to the descendants of the innkeeper, he wondered? Had his numerous children moved away long ago, or had they kept the business running up until present time? There was no telling. Zhongli wasn’t sure he wanted to know in the first place. 

He sighed and moved on. He kept his eyes peeled on the dirt road, trying to keep his thoughts blank for a while. 

He reached the next village by the end of the afternoon. The sun hung low on the horizon, lengthening the shadows on the ground. Zhongli had met a few fellow travellers on the road, most being men and women in rough homespun clothes pulling carts of goods to sell. While they’d glanced at him curiously, they’d nonetheless nodded amicably without stopping to chat.

After three days without meaningful conversation, he was actually looking forward to exchanging a few words with someone. 

This village looked more lived-in. He could hear the loud laughter of children and the chattering of women as they went about their chores. The houses, though humble, were well-maintained. There were vegetable patches and healthy-looking fruit trees. The woodwork had been polished recently. The road was actually paved, an improvement, and the deep ruts suggested frequent cart traffic. 

The first thing that attracted his attention was a bulletin board. Made of dark wood, it was plastered over with bits of paper. Advertisements, announcements, missing person posters, some faded, some torn, some looking more recent, the same as could be found in any village. What differentiated this bulletin board from others were the bold, dark letters that had been scribbled over it. It read: Fight me, Kujou Tengu!!!!

How peculiar.

Zhongli had heard the name Kujou , but before he could place his finger on the exact memory, someone collided into him.

He staggered and looked down, his hand reaching out to steady the young child that had just slammed into him. The poor boy was nearly sent sprawling to the ground with the force of the impact. His hat was askew and his eyes wide as he reeled from what had just happened. 

“Are you all right?” Zhongli asked, hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy stared at him as his friends gathered around, chattering excitedly. “U-uh…” His lips wobbled. His face creased in what was the universal prelude to tears. 

Zhongli crouched in front of the boy, smiling reassuringly. “Now, now, there’s no need for that. Are you hurt, child?”

“You’re a foreigner!” a little girl whispered excitedly, her own eyes growing wide. “I’ve never seen one before!

“He ain’t no foreigner!” another girl, appearing a bit older, cried indignantly. “Foreigners are scary!”

The children erupted in bickering, the boy who’d collided with Zhongli forgetting his ordeal to add his two cents to the discussion. Zhongli watched, amused, until a tall shadow fell over their little group.

“What have we got here, eh?” the man asked, voice booming loud enough to scare the birds on a nearby tree off. 

Zhongli looked up from his crouch in front of the boy. A man stood there, an impressively tall, burly man with white hair and—

The sight of him was like a slap. His heart skipped a beat and the air caught in his lungs. Zhongli was barely aware of the children turning to the newcomer excitedly, talking over one another. His blood drummed hard in his ears. He straightened on instinct alone, feeling weightless and disconnected from reality. The sensation that no time had passed since his last visit to Inazuma slammed into him harder than the boy could ever have. For one terrible second, it was Azhdaha standing in front of him. The hair colour was different, the features were different, the clothes were different, the demeanour was different, but the height and build were similar. So similar, in fact, that Zhongli could have sworn this was Azhdaha, looking down at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You okay, stranger?” the man asked.

The voice didn’t quite shatter the illusion. The accent was wrong, but it did resemble Azhdaha’s voice, low and gravely and warm. Zhongli’s insides twisted uncomfortably. He swallowed, forced himself to see the person for who he was: some Inazuman man dressed in odd clothes, tall and big and burly as Azhdaha had been, but definitely not him.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” Zhongli managed to answer. His voice came out a bit strangled.

“Are you sure? You’re a bit green around the gills. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ah.”

“Never seen an oni in real life, have you, eh?” the man asked excitedly. He pointed at himself. “I’m Arataki Itto! The ancient blood of oni runs through my veins!”

The loud voice and exuberant gestures shattered the illusion that this was Azhdaha. Azhdaha had been quiet and soft-spoken, barely raising his voice even in anger. He would never have been found gesticulating expansively in the middle of the road while children cheered him on.

Zhongli blinked. An oni. A demon from Inazuma. This Arataki Itto did look the part, actually, not only because of the thick horns sprouting from his head, but also in the way he felt . He didn’t feel fully human in a way that reverberated in Zhongli’s soul.

“My name is Zhongli. I can’t say that I have ever met an oni, sir.”

The man laughed loudly. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Zhongli! Thanks for saving this little tyke from falling over into the canal.”

“I didn’t—”

“He’s always running around without looking where he’s going!” Itto gave the boy a playful shove. “One day, he’s going to fall into the canal, bash his head, and die!”

The boy squawked in indignation. “I won’t! You big meanie, Itto! I won’t! My head’s as hard as yours, you said so yourself!” After giving the big man a mighty shove that didn’t budge him, he ran off into the village, disappearing between two houses.

Zhongli watched the boy go, a little mystified by the encounter, a little confused by everything that was happening. The other kids remained, chattering happily with the man named Itto who both reminded Zhongli of Azhdaha and didn’t at the same time.

From beneath lowered eyelashes, he covertly observed the oni, willing his first impression to change. When not seen from behind the curtain of nostalgia, the ressemblances between the two big men weren’t as stark, yet there were some nonetheless; the height, the broadness of the shoulders, the straight back. Although few other details were similar, those were enough for Zhongli’s throat to remain tight. 

“Hey, we’re about to have supper, wanna come with us?” Itto offered, turning his attention to Zhongli. The children immediately surged forward, chorusing that he had to .

Zhongli blinked. “Oh. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t impose! And, anyway, you don’t want to disappoint the kids, don’t you?” The conspiratorial grin that Itto bestowed upon him was nothing like Azhdaha’s, but it still made Zhongli’s heart leap.

“Very well, then. How could I say no to supper in such an illustrious company?”

-

Supper was a chaotic affair during which Zhongli found himself conversing more with the children than with any of the adults present. The whole village gathered to eat together in the tiny public plaza, putting down blankets and taking out baskets of food. Judging by what everyone brought, Zhongli guessed this was a common occurance forced by poverty. The villagers shared what they had with their neighbours so the meal would be more satisfactory. A bit of fish from the local fishermen, some greens from someone’s backyard, water from someone’s well. 

The adults seemed all equally fascinated by him--he was a stranger in a land that hadn’t seen strangers in a very long time. Most of the outsiders who had visited during the decades Inazuma had been closed off had remained in the capital. Few had left to wander the countryside, and fewer had taken the time to stop into a tiny, nameless village. The children had grown up with wild tales about the outside world, some believing incorrectly that everyone outside Inazuma had the appearance of blood-thirsty monsters. They were therefore fascinated by Zhongli with his normal (and maybe a bit boring) appearance.

He regaled them with stories of Liyue while they listened raptly. They went ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ as he recounted the latest dangers Liyue Harbour had been in and promised to keep a lookout for a blond Traveller in search of her brother. 

He found he enjoyed the cozy atmosphere. He could tell a few of the villagers were wary of him, giving him sidelong glances from the darker corners of the plaza. Nobody was outright discourteous, and he knew he had Arataki Itto to thank for this. The second he’d endorsed Zhongli’s presence, almost everyone had dropped the uncertain attitude. He couldn’t tell exactly who Itto was to these people. He clearly didn’t come from this village; his accent was wrong and he was treated more as an honoured guest than as a resident. People deferred to him in a subtle way that told Zhongli he had done them great service at one point. 

By the time the children were getting sleepy, night had fallen. Zhongli was surprised to see a smattering of stars appearing in the darkening sky. His offer to help clean up the remnants of the supper was denied. He was politely shooed out of the plaza. As he walked away from the warm circle of torchlight, he found he was a little glad for the respite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an audience listen to his stories this raptly. It left him with a gentle, burning glow in his chest, and he knew he’d forever remember the sight of those little, glowing faces staring at him in attention. 

Away from the plaza and the packed villagers, the air was cooler. The countryside was alive with the sounds of animals burrowing for the night. He leaned against a rickety fence to stare out at the fields, arms crossed over his chest. A gentle breeze tugged at his hair, and he closed his eyes to focus his senses on the foreign scents. The air smelled different here than it did in Liyue and in Mondstadt. It was also different than it had been in his memories, more charged , as if there was a storm far away, slowly inching closer. 

Footsteps alerted him that Itto was walking in his direction. The man wasn't trying to be particularly stealthy, but he was quieter than he’d been back in the plaza. Zhongli glanced at him out of the corner of his eye when he came to stand beside him. In the growing darkness, mistaking him for Azhdaha would have been too easy. If not for the way his white hair seemed to glow silver in the rising moon’s light, it could have been Azhdaha standing there. The height was exactly the same and, for half a terrifying second, Zhongli’s natural reaction was to lean against the other man.

He steeled himself, embarrassed.

“What is a lordling from Liyue really doing here?” Itto asked, keeping his voice low, now sounding like Azhdaha too.

Zhongli dug his fingers into the fabric of his sleeves, forcing his mind to focus on the present. “I am afraid I am far from being a lord, Mr. Itto.”

A low chuckle. “Forgive me, but with the way you talk and behave, it’s a little hard to believe. I’ve never known foreign commoners to have such an excellent grasp of our language in the first place, much less talk like one of those hoity-toity samurais.”

Hoity-toity. Zhongli wasn’t sure he’d ever been called that. “Would it be so bad if I were indeed a lord?”

“If I met you in some fancy restaurant in Inazuma City, then no. But meeting a lord traveling on his own, one who doesn’t mind getting nearly run over by a child and then sharing a meal with poor villagers? It’s not a common occurrence.”

“No, it’s not, you are right.” Zhongli shook his head. “Let me reassure you, Mr. Itto, that I am a mere traveller at the moment. I have no hidden design nor do I wish ill upon your land. I am…” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I am on vacation. I’ve retired recently and therefore wish to travel.”

Itto burst into loud laughter, ruining the tense moment. “Retired! At your age?”

Zhongli’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “Yes. I am older than I look.”

“Are you, now? Very well, if you say so. Then permit me one last question: that bauble on your back, it’s a Vision, isn’t it?” Itto crossed his arms, leaned his hip against the fence, and looked down at Zhongli. The glint in his eyes told him he wouldn’t accept anything but the truth on this.

Zhongli looked up at him frankly (how odd it was to have to look up to someone). “It is a Vision.” He cocked his head a fraction. “But you know, because you have one too yourself, don’t you?”

Itto grinned, his teeth glowing bright. “Yes! It was confiscated during the Vision Hunt Decree, but I’m on the way to getting it back.” He patted his chest, presumably where his Vision usually rested. “I need it to continue my work of protecting these folks. Poor peasants and tiny villages have no one else but my gang and I.”

“Are the Shogun’s soldiers not doing their work?”

“Ah! They don’t have the time for the small folk! Half of them are corrupt and the rest simply don’t care. With the war over, the countryside is teeming with masterless samurais looking for mischief. If nobody steps up, then it’s small villages like this one that take the brunt of it.”

Zhongli looked back over his shoulder at the handful of tiny houses. He had seen it on his way here, the casual destruction of places like this one. He understood Itto’s worries. Often, the aftermath of a war was more terrible than the war itself for the peasantry. “I see. Well, I assure you that I have nothing to do with the samurais, masterless or not. As I said, I am a mere traveller.”

“Are you, though?” To Zhongli’s shock, Itto took a step closer, leaned in, and sniffed him. “You’re not lying, but you’re not telling the truth either. There’s more to it. You don’t smell human.”

Zhongli had to make an effort not to lean back. He stood his ground, ignoring the way his heart had kicked up a notch when Itto leaned in. (He couldn’t believe that he’d thought, for a split second, that the man was going to kiss him, and he couldn’t believe that he’d considered letting him do it.) 

He swallowed. From up close, the resemblance between Itto and Azhdaha mostly vanished. For one, Itto looked much younger. He might be an oni, Zhongli doubted he was much older than twenty-five. There was also a watchfulness about him that Azhdaha hadn’t possessed, the kind of watchfulness that came with either decades of experience or years of hardship. Even at the end, Azhdaha had never had that look about him.

Zhongli cleared his throat. “I am not. I am an adeptus.”

“Ah! That explains a lot of things, mainly why you don’t mind travelling alone and why you said you retired while looking this young.”

Even though he’d retired nearly a year ago and had been living the life of a mortal since then, it still felt weird being treated like a regular human. 

Zhongli offered a little smile. “Yes. I am a lot older than I look.”

“How old?” Itto asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “Fifty? One hundred?”

The smile widened. “Give or take a generation or ten.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter! What matters is this: I don’t like the look on your face.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How… sad you look.” Itto chuckled, sounding self-conscious. He scratched the back of his head, grinning apologetically. “Look, I don’t want to sound weird or anything. You just have that aura of sadness about you. I can’t abide it! Nobody should be sad around Arataki Itto! You saved little Takashi from falling into the canal, so I pledge that I’m going to try making you laugh at least once during your stay!”

Zhongli blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden candour. Heat rose to his cheeks. He turned away, hand going to his face to hide the curve of his smile. “I’m usually quite serious, Mr. Itto. You might have a hard time keeping your pledge.” 

“Hmm, somehow, I get the sense that, somewhere deep down, there’s a part of you that knows how to have fun.”

“Perhaps.”

-

Zhongli spent the night in the village, sleeping on a floor covered by old tatami mats. There were no shutters on the single window, so he was able to track the progress of the moon as he tried falling asleep. The old villager who’d kindly offered him a spot on his floor slept a few feet away from him, surrounded by his daughter and her three children. The noise of their breathing and snoring kept him from falling asleep, but he didn’t really mind. 

After making his pledge that he’d draw a laugh out of Zhongli, Itto had bid him good night and had retired to his lodgings. He was also staying with a local family and had promised that he’d be up at first light to be on his way. He hadn’t explicitly invited Zhongli along, but the way he’d spoken had suggested it nonetheless. There had been a smile on his face, a warm light in his eyes, that had told Zhongli he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

And so, Zhongli lay there on this futon, thoughts hazy, memories running wild. He had no idea why he was even entertaining the thought of following Itto, not knowing where the man intended to go. It simply felt… right to do so. After all, Zhongli had no planned destination. He had come to Inazuma without any precise goal in mind. 

Nothing about this trip made sense in the first place. Zhongli didn’t normally up and go. He didn’t do anything without thorough planning. 

But he hadn’t always been this way, hadn’t he? As a young man, he’d been reckless. His first trip to Inazuma with Azhdaha hadn’t been much planned either. They’d decided to come on a whim and just go along with the flow. It hadn’t felt scary to a young Morax, it had felt exciting. He had relished the unknown, yearned for new things. He’d been young and cocky, confident that he could do whatever he pleased and go wherever he liked simply because he wanted it. And it worked out in the end. Sure, Azhdaha and he had been out of their depths for a while. They’d been lost and confused, but they had made it work. 

Was this what Zhongli was feeling again after so many centuries? Was the new rhythm of his heartbeat brought on by this adventure, by this break in his routine?

Or was it something different?

He didn’t know. If he wanted an answer, he’d have to look harder into this, into the reason that had pushed him to leave Liyue in the first place. 

He didn’t want to right now.

Borrowing deeper into the blankets, he much preferred reliving old memories, thinking back on happier times. His thoughts trailed inexorably towards Azhdaha, and it was to memories of warm embraces and gentle touches that he fell asleep.

An unknown length of time later, a rustling sound coming from outside the house woke him up. His eyes snapped open and he immediately cocked an ear, pulling the blankets off his body in case he needed to jump into action. The rustling sound came again, followed by the unmistakable scratch of a sole against packed earth. Dark silhouettes passed by the window, their shape difficult to distinguish. The mutter of low voices didn’t bode well.

Slowly so as not to make a sound, Zhongli got up. He peered out the window once the small group had passed, just in time to see them disappearing around the corner. He knew there was a communal garden in that direction that was full of ripe vegetables. There was nothing of value to be stolen in such a poor village except for victuals. 

It didn’t take a genius to guess where these intruders were headed.

He sneaked out of the house into the cold night air. Barefoot, dressed only in his slacks and dress shirt, the wind made goosebumps erupt on his skin. He easily shrugged it off in favour of materializing his spear in his hand. The heavy, smooth weight of the shaft was as familiar as the sound of his own voice. A thrill of anticipation ran down his spine, the same one he felt whenever he was about to enter battle. 

He rounded the corner where the intruders had disappeared on silent feet. He saw them loitering in the small, fenced off garden, their bodies little more than silhouettes. The quarter moon didn’t do much to light up the scene, but it was enough to show him the glint of weapons: a katana, a lance, what might be a dagger. Judging by the way these men moved, he knew they weren’t samurais, possibly nothing more than mere footsoldiers. Even at a distance, the air smelled of their terrified sweat and the alcohol they’d drunk to fortify their nerves.

Zhongli relaxed the grip on his polearm--if these men were as nervous as they appeared to be, a good scare would be enough to chase them away. There might not be a need for violence.

He stepped out of the shadows to make his presence known, but someone else was a second faster than him. Coming from around another little house, Zhongli recognized the form of Itto making his way towards the intruders. He loomed tall in the darkness, the horns atop his head drinking in the moonlight, turning it to a reddish glow. 

“Hey!” the big man called.

And, just as Zhongli had expected, the intruders--only four of them--jumped in unison. They clumsily bared their weapons in Itto’s direction. None of them made a move to actually attack him, not even while he kept slowly advancing in their direction.

“If you’re hungry,” Itto said, keeping his voice neutral and composed, “just ask. The nice folks of this village will help.”

He sounded so calm that Zhongli had difficulty reconciling him with the man he’d talked to earlier, the one with the boisterous laugh and expansive gestures. He sounded in command, too, like someone used to being obeyed. There was no fear or uncertainty in his stance either, only quiet control.

One of the intruders boldly called out: “W-we don’t want no charity!” 

“Charity?” Itto retorted without missing a beat. “Who said anything about charity? They’ll give you food, but you’ll be expected to help to pay it back. There’s a roof over there that needs repairing and a fence that needs mending, and the nice old lady who lives there would really like for a strong lad to help with cleaning out the well.”

“We’re soldiers!” another one retorted, managing to sound both offended and tempted.

“What are soldiers without a war to fight?” Itto asked, spreading his arms. “There’s no war, boys, it’s over, but there’s a hell of a lot of people who could use able-bodied blokes like you.”

“We don’t want to return to being nameless farmers! We can achieve glory if we keep fighting! We can make a name for ourselves!” the first man cried out, his words slurring together.

And that was the crux of the problem, Zhongli sensed. Men who had tasted war often had a hard time returning to the ordinary life of a civilian. Glory could indeed be achieved by military deeds, and there was little more tempting than being given a title or lands when you were a poor farmer. 

“Then why don’t you enlist in the Shogun’s army?” Itto asked, scepticism oozing from his voice. “Sure, for years you’ll be doing little more than standing guard and be bored out of your mind, but surely it’s better than being a thief.”

“I’m not a thief!”

The man attacked so comically slowly that Itto had all the time in the world to sidestep the clumsy blow. The man, evidently too drunk to stand on his own two feet, stumbled. His comrades gasped.

They turned tail and ran--smack into Zhongli who blocked their path.

“Please, if you are to leave, take your friend with you,” he said, using the same reasonable tone Itto had used. The three men gaped at him as if he’d just appeared.

Itto picked the flailing man off the ground, unbothered by the curses and half-hearted blows directed his way. The man had no weapon, having dropped his dagger. “There, there,” he said, laughing, “I’ll let you go this time! Nobody will say that Arataki Itto doesn’t give a second chance!” He dropped the man at the foot of his friends. “But if you come back, I might not be so lenient.” He grinned wickedly. “Beware the wrath of an oni.”

They didn’t argue. They helped their fallen friend up and fled into the night without a look behind. Zhongli watched them go, unsure whether he was amused or saddened by the whole thing.

“You are very diplomatic,” Zhongli said, eyes on the fleeing fiends.

“Didn’t expect it from an oni?” Did he sound bitter?

“Since I know very little about oni, I wouldn’t know what to expect of one. I was merely commenting on the situation. Things could have turned badly if you had simply attacked them.”

Itto shrugged one shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The white locks shone, otherworldly, in the moonlight. “They’re just a bunch of hungry punks like most of us are. Attacking them wouldn’t do any good.”

“You are right. They were scared and drunk.”

Itto’s eyebrows twitched in surprise. “You saw that?”

“Yes. Their body language was very telling. Hurting scared people doesn’t teach them a lesson, it shows them that their fears are not groundless. Eventually, they will forget to be afraid in favour of being angry.”

“Ah… yes, that makes a lot of sense. Are all the adeptus in Liyue this wise?”

“Wisdom comes with age, so yes, most of us are quite wise.”

Itto laughed. “And humble too!”

“Oh. I assure you, Mr. Itto, it was not my intention to sound vain--”

“Don’t worry about that!” The slap on the back took Zhongli completely off guard, forcing him to take one step forward so as not to lose his balance. “O-oh crap, sorry! Did I break something?!”

“N-no.” Zhongli coughed, straightening, feeling the sting between his shoulder blades. “I am quite fine, thank you.”

“Ahh! My mother told me not to slap people like that, sorry! I forget my own strength sometimes!”

Itto was practically dancing into place, hands hovering over Zhongli as if he expected to see him crumble into dust. Although he didn’t sound that worried, there was an underlying uncertainty in his eyes that told Zhongli he might have inadvertently hurt others in the past. It reminded him of his younger years, back when dragons and humans started mingling together. There had been such accidents, with dragons forgetting how fragile human beings could be.

Zhongli offered a smile. “Please, Mr. Itto, I promise you, I’m quite alright.” He couldn’t help adding: “I’m used to such strength coming from the adeptus.”

Itto immediately perked up. “Ah! So the adeptus are as strong as the rumours claim?”

“Possibly stronger.”

“Well, well, this might warrant a trip to Liyue, then. Who’s the strongest amongst them?”

“Me.”

Itto’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in genuine surprise. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Now I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t get to see you fight off these blokes.”

“Maybe we will encounter a worthy opponent soon.”

“Ah, so you’re coming with me, then.”

Zhongli looked up at him frankly. “If the offer still stands.”

“It does, Zhongli, believe me, it does.”

-

The next morning, Zhongli hadn’t been up for more than five minutes when an eldery lady was already asking for his help. She dragged him to her vegetable patch and asked if he could pull out a few of the carrots. She claimed her old back was too painful for her to kneel. He therefore rolled up his sleeves and pulled out a few of the vegetables while she chatted away about the state of Inazuma. He then carried her basket back to her house, after which she handed him off to an old man who needed help to fix his fence.

The sun rose, beating down on his neck while he hammered the last nail into the scarred wood of the fence. He’d barely noticed the passage of time, too engrossed in his work. When he finally straightened from his crouch, he saw that the fence now stood as straight as an arrow and that the hole in it had been patched. It wasn’t his best work, but it would hold for the moment. 

The old man smiled toothily at him, evidently pleased. “This would have taken me a month, while you did it all in one morning!”

Zhongli looked up towards the sky and saw that the sun had nearly reached its zenith. “Oh. It’s almost noon.” He smiled at the eldery gentleman. “I’m glad to have been of help, sir.”

“Well, come wash your hands and I’ll give you a bit of lunch. My wife won’t let me live it down if I send you on your way on an empty belly.”

It was only at the mention of food that Zhongli realised he was hungry--although he didn’t need to eat, his body had grown used to it. It clamoured for a nice meal certainly as often as the body of a regular human being did. 

“Do you know if Mr. Itto has gone?” Zhongli inquired as he followed the man to his battered house. He washed his hands in the bucket of rainwater at the front, glad to rid them of dirt and wood splinters. He noticed, to his dismay, that his fingernails were dirty and ragged. It made him realise with a jolt that he hadn’t done any manual work in a long, long time.

“Oh, no, he’s helping Yuki with cleaning out the well. He should be done by now.” The old man chuckled. “It’s not often we can have two able-bodied young men to help us, so I’m afraid we’ve been taking too much of your time.”

“Nonsense. It is an honour to be able to provide a helping hand to the charming people of this village.”

The man’s eyes widened and something looking like a blush appeared on his wrinkled cheeks. “Ah! You Liyuens! You have such a flowery way of speaking!” He shook his head ruefully. “But yes, don’t worry, Itto said he wouldn’t leave without you. I wasn’t aware he knew people from Liyue.”

Since there was nowhere to dry his hands, Zhongli wiped them on his pant legs. “Mr. Itto and I met only yesterday.”

“Oh! Hearing him going on about you, it felt as if you’d known each other for a while. You seem to have made quite an impression on him. He says you are possibly the strongest man he’s ever met.” The old man eyed him dubiously. “Though I’m starting to wonder if he might need glasses. You might be broad across the shoulders, but you’re quite slender. He’d break you in a second in a fight.”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Ah, I’m afraid your assessment of my person is slightly off, sir. Please, don’t worry on my account. I can hold my own in a fight.”

“Humph, well, I certainly hope so! A lot of us folks would be quite miffed if Itto hurt you. We might need your help again when you next pass through our village.”

“I’ll be very glad to provide any assistance I can.” And he would be. Looking at the beaming old man so proud of his fixed fence, Zhongli was reminded how good it used to feel to simply build something. He’d been an archon for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to get down on his knees in the dirt and just make something.

He met Itto after a nice lunch of thin vegetable broth. The man already had a bag slung across his shoulder as he waited for him at the north end of the village, evidently ready to be on his way. The way he stood impatiently, tapping his foot, made him look like a child eager to go on a trip. There was an excitable streak to the man that Zhongli found he rather enjoyed. It was terribly refreshing to be in the presence of someone simply happy to be alive.

“The man of the hour!” Itto exclaimed as soon as he spotted him. “You made quite an impression in the village.”

“I lended a hand where it was needed, nothing more.”

Itto waved one last time at the villagers and resolutely took the road. “You have to understand that it’s exceptional for folks like this to see a stranger, much less one willing to help with boring manual tasks.”

Zhongli fell into step easily with the man. The early afternoon air was crisp, smelling of grasses and late-blooming flowers. The sky had a flawless blue colour that reminded him of the waters of Luhua Pool at the height of summer. 

“I understand. Although Liyue hasn’t been at war for a very long time, we had our strife once in a while. I know the post-war times are often the hardest. I’m honest when I say I was glad to be of help.” He looked down at his hands with their now-ragged nails. “Very glad indeed.”

“Good. Because that’s what I do: I help the little folk. Sometimes, it’s by chasing away bandits, sometimes it’s by rebuilding a fence.”

“Do you do all that on your own?”

“Nah, I have a gang, but we’re spread thin.”

“Oh. And are the members of your gang oni too?”

Itto chuckled. “‘Afraid not.” He paused then added: “We oni don’t have a very good reputation. We mostly chose to remain neutral during the recent conflict, and it didn’t garner us much good will. I’m trying to change that, though some say I’m doing this only because my Vision got confiscated.”

Zhongli hadn’t expected that--he’d thought oni were like the adeptus in Liyue: revered and adored and a little feared. “I see.” He shook his head. “But the people in that village now adore you.”

“Well, I provided help so of course they like me now. They weren’t that warmed by my presence a week ago.” He shrugged. “But it’s fine. I much prefer working on my reputation this way. It would be too weird to arrive somewhere and be treated as a king or something.”

The comment jolted Zhongli; he’d never considered this. Before, as Rex Lapis, he had been welcomed everywhere. He’d never had to prove himself, at least not over the past few millennia. By the time he’d resigned, his name had been more than enough to open him every door, even outside of Liyue if he’d so wished. 

Suddenly, he realised that Itto reminded him of his younger self. Young Morax had been brash and loud, a little feared and a little hated, even amongst his own pack. He’d been too different to really mingle. His bad reputation had preceded him for a long time. He’d had to work hard to fix it and earn himself some respect.

And he’d earned this respect by doing exactly what Itto was doing: helping others.

Was this what had pushed him to come to Inazuma? Was it so he could meet with this lonely oni who reminded him so much of both his younger self and of Azhdaha? 

He found he was eager to discover it.

-

They slept rough for the next couple of nights. There were no nearby villages to welcome them, and the few huts they encountered on the road had been abandoned. 

The first night, they slept sheltered from the wind by a few boulders. They ate from the provisions they’d been gifted and a few Amakumo fruits.

The next night, they found an empty barn with its walls mostly intact. They lit a fire and were able to roast a weasel Itto had snared during the afternoon. The smell of it roasting over the flames made Zhongli salivate, and he was shocked at how eager he was to eat this unrefined meal with his fingers. Without any spice to taint it, the meat tasted raw and slightly bloody, so different from what he’d grown accustomed to.

On the road, Itto did most of the talking. Zhongli discovered he was glad to simply listen, letting the words wash over him and playing out the stories in his head. It was a sort of quiet he hadn’t experienced often. Usually, he was the one talking while others listened. He found he didn’t mind having his place usurped. Itto was a good raconteur, perhaps not as skilled as Venti, but he had a knack of making describing the most mundane things interesting.

Zhongli found him interesting, which probably explained the whole thing. Itto was charming, there was no other way to explain it. His charisma was boundless, his grins infectious. He breathed life. He breathed good cheer. He seemed able to see the best side in anything. He was a realist without being cynical, a rare feat. 

And each time they could, they stopped to provide help. Itto was never shy about approaching someone and asking if they needed a hand. Often, they were turned down. The peasants here seemed wary of strangers, especially of an oni travelling with a foreigner. Others welcomed them with open arms. 

Over the course of the week, Zhongli was therefore roped into more mending of fences, more thatching of roofs, more cleaning of wells, more weeding of gardens. The hamlets they visited had suffered a lot during the war. Young people had all but disappeared, either dying on the battlefield or leaving to find a better life in a nearby city. Only the older folks and young children were left behind to fend for themselves. It broke Zhongli’s heart to see a child of no more than eight having to look after his grandparents, both of them too old to do much.

Being useful to them was a balm. As an archon, Zhongli had helped his people with grand things--protecting Liyue from invaders, building whole cities, crushing mountains, killing dangerous gods. It had been a long, long time since he’d helped anyone with day-to-day tasks. He was glad that he hadn’t become too grand to do dishes or thread needles or weave a basket. 

After a week, Itto commented: “You’ve lost that frown.”

They were eating fruits, seated on rocks beside the road. The sun was mostly hidden behind clouds and the wind had picked up. 

Zhongli considered his answer as he chewed on a juicy mouthful. “Whatever do you mean?”

Beside him, Itto reclined, turning his face towards the sky. “When I met you, you had a perpetual frown etched onto your face. I thought it was your default expression. But it’s almost gone now.”

“I find joy in helping others.”

“Ah. Did you not help people back in Liyue?”

“Not in the way we’ve been doing.” His fingernails were ruined. The calluses in his palms were now from wielding spades and hoes rather than lances. The ache in his back was from carrying heavy baskets of earth rather than from sitting all day long in his office at the funeral parlour.

Itto chuckled. “Ah, yes! Manual labour does feel good, doesn’t it? It clears the head and cleanses the body!”

Zhongli nodded. “Indeed it does.” He finished his fruit. “I have no idea why I came to Inazuma.” He hadn’t expected to say this out loud. It sounded a little silly when put into words rather than being a mere thought in his head. 

“Didn’t you say you were on vacation?”

“Yes, but I’ve never been fond of travelling. Usually, the rare times I’ve left Liyue, it was to visit a… friend in Mondstadt. And whenever I did, we would meet just across the border.”

Itto hummed. There was a bug skittering on the boulder beside his leg that he kept poking with a stick. “So you chose Inazuma on a whim?”

“More or less.” He hesitated before adding: “I came to Inazuma with a dear friend, a long time ago.”

“That friend from Mondstadt?”

“Oh, dear, no. Someone else.”

“Ah. And did you enjoy your trip the last time you visited?”

Zhongli nodded, thoughts flooding with happy memories of his time here with Azhdaha. “Yes.”

“So maybe that’s why. There’s no need for a deeper reason.” Itto looked up from his bug and grinned. “You think too much, Zhongli, that’s your problem.” He poked his knee with the stick. “Keep your mind quiet and you’ll be happier by half.”

Easier said than done. “I shall try.”

“I’ll find more people for you to help. You actually looked at peace for the first time in a week when I saw you washing those dishes for that old woman.”

-

They travelled on, leaving the countryside behind and encountering their first seizable village. 

Kiyonobe Village appeared quite large and even prosperous compared to the tiny hamlets they’d encountered before. As they got closer, they could hear the sound of industry and of many people chatting together in good cheer. There was smoke rising from many chimneys. The air smelled of woodsmoke mingling with the aromas of cooking food. A few textile businesses had spilled from the village walls to take advantage of the fast running river nearby.

“Ah, civilisation!" Itto exclaimed. “Where we can finally sleep with a roof over our head and take a hot bath!”

“That would be much appreciated.”

Itto slapped his back, now knowing that he could withstand it. “Come on, now! Let’s find some lodgings and then we can visit. I haven’t been here since the war ended.”

Not once did it cross Zhongli’s mind to refuse. 

It was only as they were paying for their room at a small inn that he wondered why he hadn’t considered leaving. Throughout the week, he had followed Itto, no questions asked. To his defense, it wasn’t as if he’d come to Inazuma with a plan or some itinerary to follow. He didn’t even know why he’d come in the first place. There had only been that itch to move. 

If he hadn’t met Itto, where would he have gone? What would he have done? Would he have travelled the back roads of the country or would he have returned home after a few days?

He honestly couldn’t tell. Nothing had prepared him for this, for this fateful encounter, for how out character he’d been behaving. He felt like he was moving blindly--he wasn’t afraid because he had a good guide, but he still had no clear idea of where he was going.

It was a little unsettling. 

It was a little exciting.

He hadn’t felt any of those emotions for a long, long time.

The room they paid for was miniscule: a few feet across, it would barely fit the futons of two grown men, a washbasin, and a small table tucked in a corner with a water pitcher on top of it. The rice paper covering the window was a little too grimy to let light filter in. The tatami mats hadn’t been changed for a season or two. The futons themselves clearly hadn’t been aired since forever. The water pitcher was cracked, its paint fading, and one of the table’s legs was shorter than the others.

“Ah, this is a real palace!” Itto exclaimed, putting down his bag. He was so tall that the top of his horns nearly brushed the ceiling. His large presence made the room seem even smaller. He grinned at Zhongli’s unsure expression. “Don’t you think this beats sleeping outside?”

“I do not wish to sound snobbish, but the outside was clean.” Zhongli sighed. “But you are right, at least the roof will keep the rain off our heads.”

They made their way to the nearest bathhouse, Zhongli trying not to show his apprehension at bathing in public. He hadn’t done anything of the sort in centuries, possibly even more. He had grown used to his own quarters with his own private bathhouse with his own towels and soaps.

They’d nearly made it to the ugly, squat stone building, when Zhongli spotted the familiar writing of Liyue. He stopped in his tracks to stare at the small stall of a cloth merchant, the origin of their ware proudly displayed on a gaudy golden awning. The woman tending it stood out somewhat, not because she wasn’t from Inazuma but because she looked prosperous compared to the other street vendors. 

At a glance, Zhongli could tell it was all a front--the fabrics she sold were pretty, but evidently cheap. 

“Oh! Liyuen silk!” Itto said when he realised Zhongli had stopped to stare. “I heard Liyuen silk was the best money could buy, no?”

Before Zhongli had time to protest, Itto was dragging him by the wrist towards the woman’s stall. 

The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with her greyish hair pulled into a bun, perked up immediately at their approach. “Welcome! I recognize a discerning eye when I see one!”

“My friend here is from Liyue, ma’am,” Itto said, patting Zhongli’s back proudly. “Your gorgeous wares attracted his attention!”

The woman turned her attention to Zhongli, looking surprised. “What a fine-looking gentleman you are, sir.” She gave his clothes a glance, one eyebrow twitching. “Weary from the road too, it seems.”

“If we’re to attend the fireworks later on, he needs something clean,” Itto declared, ignoring Zhongli’s protests. “You have something that fits this description? In exchange, I can help you fix your fraying awning or carry those bolts of fabric back to your warehouse later.”

Zhongli spluttered. “Mr. Itto, this is really not necessary.” Fireworks? What fireworks was he talking about? Zhongli had smelled the acrid odour of black powder, but he hadn’t thought it linked to fireworks. 

“Ah! Not necessary?” Itto grinned down at him, patting his shoulder. “It is, Zhongli, it is! If I am to introduce you to my friends later on, you need to look presentable. An oni always looks his best--or an adepti, in your case.”

There was no arguing with the man, so Zhongli suffered the shopkeeper showing him a few robes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Itto’s self-satisfied smirk in having surprised him. Zhongli had to admit he hadn’t seen it coming--he’d been sure they’d stumbled upon this place at random. Not once had Itto hinted that he was steering them here or that he particularly wanted to visit this village. He’d seemingly only been interested in an inn and a bathhouse.

He ended up choosing a dark-brown robe with a few golden trims at the hem. The embroidery had clearly been done by an unpracticed hand and some of the stitches weren’t as tight as they should be, but at least the material was soft in his hands and it was clean . It was only as he was fingering the fabric that he realised he didn’t have anything clean left to wear. Days on the road meant he’d cycled through his wardrobe twice without a chance to wash anything except for a quick rinse in river water. 

In order words: he stank and his clothes stank.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, wasn't it?” Itto commented with a laugh as they finally turned towards the bathhouse.

“I apologize for my oversight.”

“What do you mean?”

“Keeping clean on the road is difficult.”

Itto appeared a little confused by this. “What? You’re clean, of course. You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping rough for a fortnight.”

“Certainly not.”

Itto leaned in closer and took a whiff of his hair, startling Zhongli. “You don’t smell bad, if that’s what you’re implying. And believe me, I have a good nose!”

“A-ah. Well, that’s a relief.”

The bathhouse was full of cheerful people apparently getting ready for the fireworks Itto had mentioned before. As they waited in line to pay their entry fee, Itto explained that a friend of his was the one who had prepared the fireworks. Although she operated mostly in Inazuma City, she often attended festivals in smaller towns to show off her impressive skills. Itto had heard she’d be in Kiyonobe Village around that time and had hoped to catch her. 

“She’ll give you the full Inazuma firework experience,” Itto promised, handing a few coins to an attendant when their turn came. They were handed a thin towel and a chunk of soap before being waved further in. “And she’ll regale you with stories of her deeds during the war!” He lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned in to say: “She helped people with Visions by making false ones and smuggling them out of the city!”

“She sounds like an interesting girl.”

Everything happened so fast afterwards that Zhongli would be hard-pressed to remember it properly. Itto had absolutely no shame--the second they reached the washing area, he undressed without hesitation, not caring that almost everybody turned to stare at him. He whistled as he folded his clothes and put them neatly away on a shelf. 

Zhongli was immensely glad for the attention his companion attracted; at least it meant people were not looking at him . As a younger man, he’d been anything but shy. He’d been good-looking and he’d known it, and he’d been all too happy to flaunt it. He’d gotten shier as he grew older, to the point that, now, exposing his own skin felt vulgar. He never went anywhere without a jacket on and didn’t even want to roll up the sleeves of his shirt unless he absolutely had to.

Gentlemen didn’t get undressed in front of others.

Now, he had no choice. 

And he really, really wanted to wash off the grime of the road. It didn’t matter that Itto had said he didn’t smell ripe, he felt dirty.

In what had to be record time, he undressed down to his smallclothes, pinned his hair up to keep it out of the way, and washed, using the lukewarm water from one of the many buckets. 

The large room was built of stone and smelled mouldy. There had to be at least twenty or thirty people with them in here, men, women, and children, all apparently at ease with public scrubbing. They’d resumed talking once they’d stopped gawking at the tall oni, their chatter mingling with the sound of rushing water.

Ever since he’d met Itto, Zhongli had been dimly aware of the man’s physical appearance. It was not something he noticed much in other people except for a vague impression of hair or eye colour, or a few interesting details. 

It was different for Itto, because he’d reminded Zhongli so much of Azhdaha that he had to take notice. He had taken notice of his height, of the broadness of his shoulders, of the shape of his jaw, of the proud tilt of his chin, of the muscles that rippled under his skin as he moved. He had noticed the way his large hand nearly completely swallowed up his chopsticks when he ate or the knife’s hilt when he skinned a hare. He’d also noticed how his red eyes glittered when he was happy and how his proud grin made him look boyish. He’d noticed his long, sharp canines that he sometimes bared when he was trying to be intimidating.

And so, Zhongli was only half-surprised when his gaze wandered from the wall to his travelling companion. His treacherous eyes followed a drop of water as it slid down his broad back. They drank in the sight of those muscles flexing as he picked up a bucket of water that he upended on his head. His long hair stuck to his skin, the pale strands looking like old silver rather than pale moonlight.

A flush crept up Zhongli’s face. He quickly looked away, embarrassed at his own boldness. This was improper. He shouldn’t be ogling Itto this way. He shouldn’t be looking at those big hands and wondering how they would feel around his waist. He shouldn’t be looking at this broad back and wondering what it would look like with gashes left from his fingernails. 

It took every ounce of his impressive self-discipline to finish washing up without embarrassing himself. By the time he’d halfheartedly dried himself with the thin towel and wrapped himself in his new robe, he thought he would go faint with how little blood there was left in his head. 

He left the bathhouse with his mind foggy, hoping that the lightheadedness was caused by the humid heat and not only by his lustful thoughts.

The late evening air was blessedly cool against his burning cheeks. He tilted his head towards the sky with a sigh. He wondered if what had happened in the bathhouse was a good indication that it was time to part ways with Itto. Zhongli didn’t like how he’d felt in there, that spike of lust that had coursed through his body. He’d known Itto was attractive--Zhongli was old enough to also know his own tastes in men and how Itto fitted every one of them. But he hadn’t thought he’d actually feel attracted to him. There was no connection between them, nothing linking them. They hadn’t known each other for a month. Zhongli usually wasn’t physically attracted to men unless he’d known them for a long time. 

Except for Azhdaha.

His eyes snapped open as he realised this. 

Everything had been different with Azhdaha. Morax and he had been in the same pack, but of different generations, so they hadn’t known each other much. To Morax, Azhdaha had simply been Guizhong’s friend, a boring old man with a severe face and not a single funny bone in his body. He had considered Azhdaha attractive--but then, everyone in the pack had considered Azhdaha attractive. With his big body, his strong muscles, his tirelessness, he had been what every female dragon would consider a good candidate as a mate.

Morax had mostly found him dull. Good-looking sure, but dull, always telling him to behave, to be nicer, not to pick fights with everyone, not to put himself into danger. For a long time, he’d been nothing more than a nagging old man, the kind that Morax enjoyed bothering. 

Until Morax had grown older, and somehow finding Azhdaha mildly attractive had turned into being interested in him. Being interested a lot in him. 

Dragons didn’t jump each other’s bones randomly. They courted for a long time to be sure they were right for each other. 

Morax, in true Morax-fashion, had bypassed all that.

They’d slept together and then started courting.

Even to this day, Zhongli still wasn’t sure what had made him tick. What had it been about Azhdaha that had attracted him so? It was only after they got together that Zhongli got to truly know him. He got to learn that Azhdaha was a big-softie, that he was gentle and intelligent and cunning, that he was calmness personified but would destroy mountains if his loved ones were in danger. He learned that Azhdaha was a little shy, a little withdrawn, that he was content with letting Morax be in the limelight. 

Nobody would have predicted Morax’s and Azhdaha’s love story, except perhaps Guizhong. Nobody would have predicted that Azhdaha would be what was needed to tame the wild young dragon, that his boundless patience and love would help make him worthy of his archon title. Guizhong had schooled him, had made him wise and knowledgeable, had made him want to broaden his horizon, had taught him to be gentle to creatures weaker than him. But Azhdaha had taught him patience, had taught him the virtues of silence, of listening. 

Was this what attracted Zhongli to Itto, then? Could it be simply because Itto reminded him of Azhdaha? And not only physically, not anymore. The more time they spent together, the more Zhongli realised that Itto could also be quiet and introspective. There was more to him than his boisterous attitude and arrogance. He’d seen it sometimes, when Itto would sit quietly with his eyes unfocused and his mouth turned down unhappily at the corners. There was a vulnerability to him that Zhongli hadn’t expected too, a brittle core hidden by a thick veneer of good cheer. Just as with Azhdaha, there was so much more than met the eye.

“Zhongli!” Itto jogged up to him, hurriedly tying the belt around his robes, sandals clicking loudly on the cobblestones. “You left in a hurry! Are you all right?”

Zhongli cleared his throat and smiled. “Yes, yes. I apologize, the heat must have gotten to my head.”

“Oh, good, phew! I thought it was because this guy staring at you was making you uncomfortable.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Didn’t you notice this guy staring at you?” Itto ran his fingers through his still-damp hair, muttering about a forgotten comb.

“Oh, no, I can’t say that I did.”

“Good, then. You do look good, though.”

Another wave of heat burst into Zhongli’s face. He stopped walking to look up at the other man, unsure what to make of this. “Whatever do you mean?”

Itto raised a thick eyebrow at him, grinning. Although he oozed confidence right now, there was an uncertain glint in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound creepy. Heh, just, you do look good. With your hair pulled up like that.”

Zhongli’s hand went to his hair--he hadn’t thought to untie it when he left the bathhouse. It was still coiled and pinned into a loose bun. It left the back of his neck bare, exposing his hot flesh to the cool wind. “Oh.”

They were both saved from the awkward situation by the arrival of a young woman who practically threw herself at Itto, grabbing his arm. “Itto! There you are! How long have you been here? What are you doing there, dawdling, when I told you to meet me at the teahouse? Oh.” Her eyes alighted on Zhongli and her mouth opened in a wide ‘o’. “And who’s this?! You have to introduce me, Itto! You’re usually more polite!”

Caught in the embarrassment of the previous minute and the whirlwind brought on by the arrival of the girl, Itto had to visibly shake himself to answer her. His usual, confident smile returned. “Ah, Yoimiya, fancy meeting you here. We were on our way to the teahouse, actually. And this is Zhongli, a friend from Liyue I met on the road. We’re here to watch your fireworks.”

“Oh, Liyue!” Yoimiya exclaimed, sounding delighted. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Zhongli. I hope this big man here hasn’t been giving you too much grief, eh?”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Yoimiya. And no, Mr. Itto has been nothing but the best travelling companion a person could dream of.”

Yoimiya latched on to his arm and pulled the two of them in the direction of the teahouse. She was so tiny between them that they must have made quite the comical trio. “Well I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Zhongli. Have you ever seen fireworks?”

“Of course, but I was told yours are exceptionally good.”

Yoimiya laughed, visibly delighted. “Ah, they are! And this isn’t vain boasting! You’ll see! I can make people laugh or cry or anything in between with just a few explosions!”

Somehow, Zhongli got dragged into a shabby, packed teahouse, where he enjoyed subpar tea and a lukewarm bowl of tasteless noodles, seated between Itto and Yoimiya. These two visibly knew each other, but always managed to pull him into the conversation. Zhongli listened with rapt attention as the girl described how she’d built her most recent batch of fireworks, her pride in her work contagious. She had friends with her that she also introduced, and soon their trio widened to encompass a dozen people.

It was warm in the teahouse. The patrons were raucous, most of them on their way to being drunk. The air was close, stuffy, and smelled of spilled alcohol. Yet Zhongli found he wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else. The companionship of these people buffeted him gently, like small waves lapping at a tiny ship. He could feel the affection they had for each other, see the complicit smiles and hear the inside jokes. Watching them having fun, being brave despite everything that had happened to their land, warmed him the way osmanthus wine used to.

When he chuckled at one of Yoimiya’s retelling of a narrow escape from the Shogun’s samurais, he caught Itto’s eye above the girl’s blond head. The man was smiling, not at the joke, but at him . His smile was soft around the edges, and Zhongli couldn’t help smiling back in answer. 

He was pretty sure it wasn’t the heat in the teahouse that made his cheeks flush.

-

At dusk, Yoimiya chased them all out of the teahouse. She directed Itto and Zhongli towards the best spot in the village from which to watch the fireworks, before sauntering off with a spring in her step.

The best spot turned out to be the roof of a small lacquerware shop. There was a pile of crates in the backyard that could be used as a ladder. The shop was closed for the night so, if they were careful, nobody would notice their presence up there.

Because they shouldn’t be there. They shouldn’t climb on the roof of that shop.

Zhongli felt uncharacteristically naughty as he shrugged off his concerns and climbed the pile of wooden crates. They wouldn’t be hurting anyone, so what did it matter? Surely the local law enforcers would be too busy with herding off the drunkards home to notice two persons sitting quietly on a rooftop.

The shingles under his hands were cool and a little slippery, but it was nothing the ex-geo archon couldn’t handle. He pulled himself on top of the roof, his sandaled feet finding purchase on the uneven stones of the wall. Everything felt sturdy beneath him, so at least it meant they wouldn’t fall through.

Itto came to join him a second later, swinging his feet off the edge of the roof like the drop to the ground meant nothing. Zhongli saw that he’d relieved the teahouse owner of a half-finished bottle of cheap wine.

“What?” Itto asked when Zhongli gave him a reproachful look. “Yoimiya told me the owner of the place is an asshole.” He groaned when the look got more pointed. “Fine, fine, I’ll go back to pay for it afterwards. Jeez, you have the mean stare of an angry mommy catching their kid eating sweets before supper.”

“I simply think theft is below you. And if you want this place to prosper, you need to pay for goods. That’s the law of commerce.”

Itto chuckled. “Ah, yes, commerce. I sometimes forget that you’re from Liyue. Your god of commerce will smite you if you let me get away with this?”

“No. Rex Lapis smited only those who didn’t respect their contract. Though, if we want to be very technical about it, theft could be seen as a breach of contract between customer and--”

“Okay, okay, I know that tone of voice! I like your long-winded monologues, Zhongli, but Yoimiya will threaten the wrap a garland of flowers around my horns again if I don’t watch her fireworks with rapt attention.”

“How is that a threat?”

Itto shivered exaggeratedly. “My horns are very, very sensitive, so wrapping something delicate like flowers around them is like having ants crawl all over me.”

Zhongli’s eyes went to the top of Itto’s head, where two red horns sprouted proudly amidst a nest of white hair. “I understand. Let’s not disappoint Miss Yoimiya, then.”

In a matter of minutes, a hush fell over the village. Most of the inhabitants, and quite a few visitors by the look of them, had gathered at the central marketplace. People of every age and walk of life craned their necks towards the sky, waiting in expectation for the first burst of colour. 

Zhongli waited, his own excitement mounting. He barely had time to consider why he was so excited over something as mundane as fireworks when the first explosion shook the ground. A vivid blue flower bloomed in the dark sky, folding in upon itself, only to be immediately reignited by a red burst. Blue and red particules danced and fell like spring rain. Another explosion, and this time green coalesced into a long line that seemed to mimic grass.

Green, yellow, blue, red, Yoimiya’s fireworks told the story of autumn, with its dying nature and the hope of early spring. Zhongli thought he saw a metaphor for Inazuma in this, how the nation had finally begun its march towards spring after decades of winter. 

The villagers went ooh and aah . Children laughed and pointed. Adults stared at the sky, some seemingly coming to the same conclusion as Zhongli had.

Yoimiya, probably thanks to her pyro vision, had flawless timing. There was no lag between the explosions, no sense that she had missed or misfired. The air became acrid with the smell of spent powder.

And during the performance, a part of Zhongli’s awareness lingered on the man seated beside him. It was probably why he’d sensed him inching closer, had sensed him leaning a bit in, had known before it happened that their fingertips would touch where their hands rested between their bodies. Itto’s long nails brushing his skin sent a shiver up Zhongli’s arm.

He turned to look at the other man, tilted his chin up to meet his kiss. He could tell Itto was a little surprised--he was a little surprised himself too. But he didn’t linger on it. As the finale exploded into bursts of colours above them, Zhongli let his eyes slip shut to savour the kiss. Itto was gentle, careful, mindful of his canines. Their lips were merely brushing, the kiss so chaste to be nothing more than a peck. Zhongli was the first one to demand more, to press in. He opened his mouth into the kiss, inviting Itto in.

Itto took the invasion. He boldly seized Zhongli’s jaw in one hand, his thumb pressing into the corner of his mouth as his tongue shoved in. The feeling of a tongue invading his mouth turned Zhongli’s bones to water. He reached out, grabbed Itto’s sleeve, trying to pull him closer.

Instead, Itto leaned back, breaking the kiss. He grinned down at Zhongli when he opened his eyes, licking his lips. “We might have had a little too much to drink.”

Zhongli blinked, the heat spiraling inside of him making it difficult to think. Between them, the bottle of wine sat empty. He didn’t even remember drinking from it, but he must have, for there was the taste of alcohol on the back of his tongue.

“Sorry,” he said quietly.

“I hope you’re not apologizing for kissing me,” Itto said, sounding amused. “Because that was the best damn kiss I’ve had in a while.”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from throwing him an incredulous look. “Surely you’re joking.”

“‘Afraid not. There’s not that many people willing to kiss a mouth like that.” He pointed to himself as he bared his teeth, the canines shining wickedly sharp. “Scared they might get a piece of their flesh bitten off, I reckon.”

“Oh. Yes, it would make sense. I hope it’s not too bold of me to say I quite enjoy them. Your sharp teeth, I mean.” Zhongli flushed--this had to be how adolescent boys felt when they tried to flirt and failed ridiculously.

“I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps you’ll be lucky and get another taste of them, when we’re both sober.”

-

Zhongli didn’t think he was drunk or, if he was, it wasn’t on alcohol.

The streets were fast emptying now that the fireworks were over. Tired children held hands with their parents while young couples darted to the darker corners for one last fumble. 

Zhongli was pretty sure he was drunk on the kiss, or on the kiss and everything that had surrounded it. His skin still tingled from Itto’s touch. His mind still fizzed with the feeling of being close to someone.

They returned silently to their inn. Zhongli noticed that they were walking closer than they used to, their hands brushing once in a while.  

Itto didn’t seem perturbed by their proximity. Zhongli couldn’t forget that the man had been the one initiating their kiss. Was this something he’d been wanting to do, or had it been a spur of the moment thing? The atmosphere had been right--gorgeous fireworks, some alcohol, the good cheer running through the town.

“I hope it won’t change anything, that kiss,” Itto said once they reached the front door. They stopped by the porch where one single torch burned low. In the sputtering reddish light, Itto’s features were difficult to read. 

Zhongli crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m afraid believing a kiss won’t change an entire relationship is quite childish, Mr. Itto.”

“I want us to remain friends. I don’t want you to be weirded out by me.”

“I’m not weirded out by you. You actually did nothing weird. If you’d thrown me off the roof, then we would be having a different discussion altogether.”

Itto chuckled, sounding strained. “You sure about that?”

“Yes. And I kissed you back, didn’t I? If I hadn’t enjoyed it, I wouldn’t have.”

“I suppose you’re right. Maybe things will look different in the light of day.”

-

But they didn’t.

When Zhongli woke early the next morning to sunlight streaming through their tiny window, he found Itto lying on his side beside him, head propped up on his fist, looking at him. Although they both had their own futon, the room was so small that they might have slept together with how little space there was between them.

“I just realised something,” Itto said without preamble the second Zhongli’s gaze locked on his. “Your eyes. The way they look.”

“Like cor lapis?”

“No, no. They are the exact same colour as my Vision. Golden. I’ve been trying to put my finger on where I’d seen such a colour before, and it was only last night when we talked by the front door that I saw it.”

Zhongli didn’t know what to say. He was still pleasantly drowsy, his brain just the tiniest bit fuzzy from the alcohol he’d drank yesterday. The room was warm and bright, and the blankets no longer seemed to smell so musty. It was comfortable between them, like they’d been waking up side by side every morning for years. 

He wondered how Itto would react if he told him his eyes were the exact same shade as his geo Vision because he’d been the archon granting it to him. He wondered how long before Itto pieced that bit of information together, and how he would react once he did. 

He didn’t want to lie, but the fact that he’d been the geo archon wasn’t relevant to the situation. Right now, to Itto, he was simply Zhongli, the adepti from Liyue. What did it matter what he had been before? 

“I’m not tipsy anymore,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Itto understood--he leaned him and slotted their lips together in one smooth move. Zhongli wrapped his arms around his strong neck, opening his mouth eagerly for the kiss. There was no hint of alcohol on their breath, no hint that they’d drunk wine yesterday. Itto had simply wanted to make sure they took things slow, that they didn’t rush into anything simply because of the mood. Zhongli knew he wouldn’t have rushed, but he didn’t know about the other man.

They knew so little of each other.

One of Itto’s hands rested on his ribs, big and warm even through the blankets. His long teeth gently nipped at Zhongli’s lips, the pressure not enough to break the skin but just enough to tease. It sent shivers down his back, made him want to feel more of it.

But before he had his fill, Itto was pulling back, grinning. “How about we have breakfast, eh?”

-

Their relationship changed from that moment on in some tiny ways. They shared blankets at night now. They touched more, exchanged more meaningful glances. The silences between them were more comfortable, as if they no longer felt the need to fill them with chatter. 

Itto opened up more too.

As they sat at their campfire at night, he would talk about his life, never going into details, but giving hints here and there. The picture he painted as his youth was one of fending mostly for himself, absent parents and uncaring clan members leaving him to his own devices. Zhongli learned that he had no idea who his real parents were--he’d been abandoned as a baby and the family of a nameless samurai had found him. They’d taken him in out of superstition, believing that leaving him by the road would bring them bad luck. They weren’t necessarily mean to him, but they had other children, real children, that they preferred to focus on.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Itto assured with a laugh. “The other kids on the estate didn’t fear me much. I had friends.” They had caught a few fishes earlier that were being roasted above the flames. Itto gave them a poke with a knife to see if they were ready, before continuing. “The adults were the ones who truly feared me. They seemed to think I could curse them or something as nonsensical as that.”

Zhongli’s heart ached for the child this happy young man had been. “It is quite unfair. They should have known better.”

Itto shrugged one shoulder. “Oni don’t have a particularly good reputation in Inazuma, Zhongli. I was luckier than a lot of kids. At least I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, clothes to keep me warm in winter. I got a bit of an education, which is better than a lot of people get here, and I was trained in martial arts.”

“I’m glad that you can see the good sides of things.”

“I prefer it that way. Moping about isn’t something I usually do.” Itto laughed again. “Sorry, sorry, that’s kind of a heavy topic for such a gorgeous night! Here, I think the fish is ready. Try some! I even added a bit of my secret spice! Let me know what you think.”

Zhongli was handed a large piece of fish on a wooden plate. The fresh catch smelled good and his stomach grumbled with hunger. “Don’t apologize. I don’t mind listening to it.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re nice like that.”

“It’s because you are a dear friend, Itto.”

“Just a friend, eh?” Itto asked around a mouthful of fish. 

Zhongli blushed a little at the teasing tone. “Assuming we are more would be presumptuous until I have confirmation that this is what you want.”

“Isn’t kissing you confirmation that I want to be more than friends?”

Zhongli hadn’t expected such candour. He swallowed his piece of his fish, hardly tasting it. He looked down at his plate. “It could have been simply a passing thing.”

“Zhongli! I’ve been kissing you for five days! We cuddle at night! I even let you comb my hair, which I’ve never let anyone else do before.”

Against his will, his mouth tugged up at the corners. “Indeed. Is it a relationship you want, then? Because if it is, I need to remind you that I cannot stay in Inazuma indefinitely, that I will have to go back to Liyue--”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence that Itto was on him, seizing his shoulders and crashing their mouths together. Their plates went flying, their supper forgotten as they fell on the hard ground. Itto’s hands were everywhere, grabbing at him, at his clothes, at his hair, pinning him down as if he were afraid he would try running. The kisses they’d shared so far had been mostly tame, nothing too heated, nothing to get the blood pumping.

This was different, and Zhongli sensed it immediately in the way Itto desperately held him. All he could do was open his mouth to the other man’s tongue, moaning at the feel of sharp fangs digging into his bottom lip. Fingers tugged at his hair, angling his head up, giving better access for his mouth to be devoured. Itto kept him firmly pinned to the ground with his heavy body.

If Zhongli had been able to speak, he would have told him such theatrics weren’t necessary. He wasn’t going anywhere, not right now at least. He wanted that kiss, those touches, this intimacy. He buried his fingers into Itto’s coarse hair, twisting strands around his knuckles, trying to convey all that through the kiss. Spit ran down his chin and he couldn’t stop himself from moaning at the feeling of a tongue nearly shoving itself down his throat.

He kept expecting Itto to pull back the same way he’d done each time before. But he didn’t, and when Zhongli felt his hand trailing down the length of his body, he thought that maybe Itto had finally gotten tired of teasing him. 

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Itto breathed into his ear, before turning his attention to the side of his neck, teeth nipping at the flesh there.

“You won’t,” Zhongli assured, his own breath coming in pants. His thoughts were already spiraling out of control. All he could focus on was the body on top of his, the hands touching him, the mouth leaving bruises on his neck. 

Itto was a little rough in his pawing, his fingers grasping, digging hard into flesh and clothes. His teeth nearly broke the skin over his pulse point until Zhongli gasped, back arching off the ground in a mixture of pleasure and pain. Itto soothed the sting with his tongue, mumbling apologies that sounded half-hearted at best. From how he laid atop of him, Zhongli could feel how hard he was.

Then there was the sound of a twig snapping and the shuffle of feet, and they sprung apart as the sputtering flames of the campfire revealed the shapes of a few men surrounding their camp. 

Zhongli sat up, mind focusing instantly on the situation, senses taking in everything. Five men, weapons drawn, bits of armour reflecting off the light of the fire. They’d approached quietly enough not to be heard.

Beside him, Itto tensed visibly. Out of the corner of his eye, Zhongli saw his hands tighten into fists, his face twisting in a snarl.

“Hey,” one of the masterless samurai said. “How about you hand us some of that fish and whatever’s in this bag, yes?” He didn’t sound drunk or scared. He sounded fully in control. He wore a mask covering his face, making it impossible to distinguish his features.

“How about you kindly go on your way?” Itto retorted. He didn’t sound nearly as calm, however. His voice was tight with barely leashed anger.

Slowly so as not to startle anyone, Zhongli got up. From the expression on Itto’s face, he saw the man was not only angry--he was embarrassed, probably embarrassed at having been caught unguarded. Embarrassment and anger didn’t mix well together. They made people act rashly, and Zhongli could tell the younger man was one wrong word from attacking these samurais. They could take them down--well, Zhongli knew he could take them down, but violence wasn’t the way to go. 

“Listen here, creep,” the samurai continued in that flat voice of his. “We don’t want to have to kill you and that guy you were pawing. Just hand over the goods and everything will be fine.”

“No.”

The rattle of armour as the samurais shifted on their feet, visibly getting ready to fight, sounded loud in the otherwise tense silence. Zhongli subtly angled his body so he could keep an eye on the samurais that were behind them. 

“Itto,” he said softly, “let’s simply give them what they want. They’re not worth the fight. It’s only a few fish.”

“No,” Itto declared, mulish “If we don't stand up to bullies, then who will?”

The samurai chuckled. “ Bullies ? That’s a new one.” He took a step forward until he was only an arm’s length away from Itto. Although the samurai was shorter than the oni, the bulk of his armour served to make look as impressive. “How about we bully you a bit, hmm, creep? We of the mighty Shogun Army don’t bow our heads to monsters. We want nothing to do with inhuman beasts like yourself.”

“Sir,” Zhongli began, keeping his voice smooth and low, peaceful, “there’s no need to resort to insults. We will--”

“Shut up, foreigner,” the samurai snapped. “Mind your own business. If you lie with beasts then you’re no better than them.”

The insult was like a slap in the face. Zhongli had to actually work on not bristling, hurt on Itto’s behalf more than on his own. 

Apparently sensing the opening, the samurai pressed on: “What’s a foreigner doing here, anyway? Has Liyue run out of monsters? Pretty boys like yourself should be more careful of who they bed. Perhaps our intervention was timely--this monster would have torn you apart--”

Itto moved before Zhongli had time to open his mouth to retort. He was on the man in the blink of an eye, cocked fist slamming into his mask. Metal crunched and shouts erupted from all around the camp.

There was no more time to think. Zhongli’s body knew exactly what to do. His spear materialized in his hand and he whipped it around to block a sword thrust that would have taken Itto in the back. He had no idea who his opponent was or what he looked like--they were all wearing those masks. But it didn’t matter. Zhongli had never needed to read an opponent's face to be able to win a fight.

He kept close to Itto, guarding his back, as the samurai whose thrust he blocked tried again. Seeing that Zhongli wouldn’t let him backstab the oni, he turned his whole attention to him. His katana flashed, quick as lightning, going for a slash at his arm. Zhongli parried, letting the blade glide harmlessly over his spear.

The blows came more quickly afterwards. He ducked and dodged and sidestepped, his own weapon coming up to slap swords away. He had no intention of killing anyone tonight. The ancient blood lust that had seen him through countless battles sang inside him. The samurais knew their business, knew what they were doing.

He batted away a blow, ducking under a fist that would have crushed his nose. He could imagine his opponent's surprise at how easily he dodged the blows. 

But then one of them cheated.

He sensed it half a second before he saw it--the power of a Vision. Fire erupted around the blade of one of the samurais, a roaring serpent of bright flames that lit up the night. Another one answered it with a flash of hydro that filled the air with the brimy odour of the sea.

Zhongli took a step closer to Itto and erected his Jade Shield. The geo construct absorbed the blow easily as pyro and hydro crashed together. Steam rose with an angry hiss, obscuring their view.

There was a stunned silence.

“Holy crap,” Itto said, eyes wide. “You’re strong.”

Zhongli offered him a smile. “This is nothing. I can hold this Shield up until they grow tired and run.” He tilted his head at the fierce expression on the other man’s face. “But you don’t want them to run. You want to fight them.”

“Will you stop me?”

In a second, Zhongli read more on Itto’s face than he had been able to read in nearly a month. Anger and pain warred for supremacy, but underlying sadness and hurt were also there, barely concealed. Itto was begging him silently to understand his rage and, though Zhongli couldn’t pretend to fully understand or agree with it, he knew it wasn’t his place to offer an opinion. 

He dropped the Shield. “No.”

As if released from a binding spell, Itto exploded into action. A huge claymore was in his hands and he swung it as if it weighed nothing at the nearest samurai. Steel met steel in a crushing blow that sent the samurai flying off his feet.

Zhongli turned his attention to the two Vision wielders. Itto didn’t have his own Vision, so it would be Zhongli’s task to keep those two away from him.

He had the element of surprise--nobody had expected him to have a Vision. He used it, going first for the pyro samurai. In quick successions, he slammed the butt of his spear on his arm, making him drop his sword. Then, his foot flew into an arch and slammed into the man’s face. He fell over backward with a oompfh of pain. 

A blade slid past his arm. Zhongli spun on his heel, dodging at the last second. There was a lick of pain just above his wrist. He pushed past it, throwing his elbow back into the man’s chest. Had he been an ordinary human being, his elbow meeting folded steel would have resulted in broken bones. It hurt him still, but the pain fueled him. He was actually surprised that someone had managed to slip past his guard.

The blow jostled the samurai back. Used to battle however, the man quickly regained his footing. He planted his feet firmly and charged Zhongli with his sword raised and a war cry erupting from his mouth. Zhongli shifted his stance, bending his knees slightly, loosening the grip on his spear. The man’s speed was nothing to scoff at. Zhongli raised his spear and blocked the first blow. He had to duck next and nearly got a knee to the face.

His Jade Shield saved him from a broken nose. The man howled in pain as his knee slammed into stone, the resulting crunch satisfying. Zhongli spun his spear in an arch and hit the man over the head with it, dropping him unconscious.

“Fuck--!”

Zhongli turned just in time to see Itto disappear into a bubble of water. The hydro user laughed as water extended from his blade to the bubble floating a few inches from the ground. With the way Itto was struggling, the watery prison wouldn’t hold him long. Not long enough to truly hurt him.

But Zhongli didn’t want to wait. He reversed his grip on his spear and hurled it at the hydro user. It bounced off his armoured shoulder, but the strength of the blow was enough to spin him. He lost his grip on his powers and the hydro bubble popped, releasing a soaking wet Itto gasping for breath.

One of the samurais tried using this moment to stab Itto in the back. Zhongli stepped between them, seized the man’s wrist, kicked his foot at the man’s ankle, and tripped him. The ground seemed to shake with how hard he fell, his sword flying from his now limp fingers.

Everything quietened. 

The samurai who was evidently the leader of the renegades stood stock still, every line of his body showing his surprise.

“Want more?” Itto asked, panting, grinning fiercely, as he got to his feet. “We can give you more.” He raised his fists to demonstrate his willingness to fight.

The samurai looked at his men, all sprawled on the ground, groaning in various degrees of pain. Even his Vision users.

“Fine, keep your fish,” he spat in disgust. “Fucking monster and his fucking harlot.”

He turned and left, his men picking themselves up to go after him.

In a matter of seconds, the darkness had swallowed them. The sound of their footsteps receded for a long time, barely muffled by their angry voices and the jingling of armour plates.

-

Itto took in a deep breath. “Zhongli,” he began, then stopped.

Zhongli said nothing. His spear disappeared. He had held back during the fight, not wanting to give his identity away. He didn’t think materializing the Jade Shield was such an extraordinary feat--many geo users could form shields after a fashion. But maybe a shield wide enough to encompass two people was a bit excessive. And maybe saying he could hold it for hours would be suspicious too. No one but an exceptional few could use their Vision for hours.

Unless you were an archon, of course. Even a retired one.

And so, Zhongli was so certain that Itto was about to demand an explanation that he nearly missed the words when he said: “I’m going to kiss you so hard your jaw will ache for a week.”

Zhongli blinked at him, surprised. “Oh. If you’d like.”

Itto marched to him, seized his face, and crushed their lips together. He kissed as he fought--with little finesse, with more strength than skill and a lot of enthusiasm to cover any flaw. He angled Zhongli’s head, forced his mouth open, and shoved his tongue in. 

Zhongli’s mind whirled from the sheer lust he could feel exuding from the other man. He reached to grasp at him, tugging him closer by his hair. He stood on tiptoe, pressing their bodies together. Itto’s hands left his face to wander down his back until they settled on his butt. He grinded their hips together, fingers digging hard into flesh. Zhongli moaned at the feel of the other man’s erection pressing into his hip. 

“Fuck, that was so hot,” Itto panted into his mouth. “You look so hot when you fight, Zhongli, like you’re some sort of martial god.” His teeth latched onto the spot he’d been worrying earlier, that patch of flesh just below his ear.

“I have a lot of experience,” Zhongli mumbled. The slight pain in his neck made it difficult to think coherently, to form words. He didn’t want to talk anyway, didn’t want to acknowledge the feelings of guilt that Itto’s comment brought. 

Instead, he pushed the other back, ignoring his look of surprise, and sank down on his knees. With quick, deft hands, he undid Itto’s trousers, his fingers rapidly undoing laces. He tugged his trousers down his hips until he could free his erection.

It was embarrassing how his mouth watered at the sight of it. He wrapped his fist around it to give it a few slow pumps, wondering how it would feel hitting the back of his throat, how it would feel inside him. He’d known Itto would be big, had felt it earlier, but this was better than he had expected.

Above his head, he heard Itto let out a string of unintelligible curses. His fingers dug into Zhongli’s hair, twisting in a way that was just shy of painful. Although Zhongli had never been a fan of pain during sex, he thought this was more than fitting. It didn’t feel bad, anyway, just different.

He started slow, letting his hand move up and down Itto’s cock. Then, when there was enough pre-come to make the glide smooth, he took the tip into his mouth. He gave a gentle suck, relishing the sharp intake of breath that followed. The fingers in his hair tightened before easing their grasp. 

When he was sure that Itto wouldn’t just buck his hips, he took more of his cock into his mouth until it reached the back of his throat. He swallowed around it, his tongue worrying the thick vein underneath. The salty taste of pre-come filled his mouth and saliva dribbled down the corners of his mouth. He could feel his own need pressing against the front of his trousers, demanding attention. 

He ignored it. He widened his jaw, taking in the cock deeper still until he had to breathe through his nose. He could feel Itto trembling, his muscles quivering. Zhongli kept his free hand on the man’s hip, though he knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop him if he decided to start fucking his mouth. He expected it, braced for it, almost shamefully hoped for it.

But Itto’s self-control held. He just stood there and endured Zhongli sucking at his cock, swallowing around it. His hips moved a little, pushing his cock just a tiny bit deeper, until breathing became impossible. Zhongli didn’t care. He could feel the other man was about to come in the way he tensed and so he redoubled his effort, until he was rewarded with a thick spurt of come filling his mouth.

He swallowed convulsively, coughing when Itto suddenly pulled out. The man fell on his ass bonelessly, panting harshly.

Zhongli swallowed what was left in his mouth before wiping his lips and chin with the back of his hand. 

“Fuck, Zhongli,” Itto said between pants. “Fuck.”

Zhongli regained his breath. When he looked up, Itto was staring at him wide-eyed, face nearly the same shade of red as his eyes. He looked kind of ridiculous, with his trousers half done, still dripping wet after fighting the hydro user. But he also looked ridiculously gorgeous, with water droplets sliding down his muscled chest and his hair sticking to his strong jaw. 

“Do you want to?” Zhongli asked. His voice was wrecked.

“Hah… About that…” Itto straightened, his blush deepening. He scratched at his cheek with one long fingernail, looking embarrassed.

Uncertainty grasped Zhongli, and he suddenly wondered if he’d badly misread the situation. “Yes?”

“I’ve never done that.”

Zhongli blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“I’ve never… fucked anyone.” Itto’s face turned crimson. Even the tip of his ears reddened. “Ever.”

“Oh.” Zhongli had absolutely no idea what to say. He could feel his own face heating up a little too. He shouldn’t have acted this rashly. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Itto might be inexperienced, that their fondling hadn’t meant to lead to sex. “I’m so very sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No! N-nononono! Don’t apologize! It’s just…” Itto groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “I want to! It’s just that… I’ve always been afraid to hurt my partner. I’m kind of… big. And a brute.”

“Oh. I see. You want to sleep with me, then?”

“What? How can you even ask? Of course I want to! Celestia above, Zhongli, you’re like an answer to all the damn prayers I’ve ever had! You’re the first person I’ve been able to kiss who hasn’t run away screaming because I bit them. You aren’t disgusted by my appearance, you don’t seem to mind my creepy fingernails or my horns or even my teeth. You’re tough enough to fight off armoured samurais. A-and so you’re so damn gorgeous too. Like…” Itto gestured helplessly at Zhongli. “Like, yeah, you’re gorgeous, and you’ve let me paw at you like some kind of wild animal.”

“I see.” Zhongli sat more comfortably on the ground. The tall grasses rustled around them in the evening breeze. Their fire was dying. “Come here.” He crooked a finger and Itto came until he sat in front of him, hair dripping. If he’d been a dog, his tail would be wagging. Zhongli reached up to trace the line of his cheek, following the red markings there. “First of all, you are not a brute, Itto. And second.” He lowered his voice. “I like my men big.”

Itto perked up, eyes going wide. “What! Really?”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself: he laughed. “Yes.” He cradled Itto’s rough cheek in his palm, smiling. “Really.”

“Can we… like do it right now?!”

“No. It would be better to wait until we can find proper shelter.”

A pout. “Aww. I’m raring to go again.”

Zhongli looked down at Itto’s lap. “Yes, I can see that. It’s very flattering. But as I said, a proper shelter would be nice. Perhaps an inn, with a bed and access to running water.”

“Whatever you want, Zhongli. I--” Itto was stopped in mid-sentence by a mighty sneeze that shook his whole frame.

“For the moment, let’s get you out of those wet clothes, Itto.”

Itto wiped his nose with his wrist, grinning. “Oh, and by the way, I fulfilled my pledge.” At Zhongli’s questioning look, his grin softened. He grabbed Zhongli’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “I made you laugh, as I promised I would.”

-

“You know, Itto,” Zhongli began, “when you said you liked bugs, I didn’t imagine it would be like this.”

They had stopped into a small village again, this time to help the local farmer with his harvest. In the evening, the children, which outnumbered the adults seemingly three to one, ran amok, managing to exhaust even Zhongli.

To remedy their need for mischief, Itto had started teaching them about insects, and especially about those big beetles called onikabuto. Therefore, after the day’s work was done, he went foraging through the countryside with the children, looking for the insects and teaching them how to organize bug fights.

And so, Zhongli watched, utterly mystified, as he dug a pit into the soft soil in the form of a bowl and then pitted one beetle against the other. The children, taken in by his enthusiasm, joined in. After two days of this, the onikabuto tournament was on and the prize for the winner was a basketful of carrots.

Itto laughed. He rose from his crouch by the fighting pit and went to sit beside Zhongli on a large, flat rock. “Insects are fascinating, don’t you think?” He patted Zhongli’s thigh. “They’re tiny, seemingly defenseless, yet they can survive in the most hostile environments. Onikabuto prosper in electro-rich spots where everything else dies or gets corrupted. Pretty amazing, no?”

As if to prove his point, Itto took one of the largest beetles from its makeshift cage and put it in front of Zhongli’s face.

He recoiled. “They are amazing from a distance, yes. I cannot stand slimy things.”

The beetle writhed between Itto’s fingers, until he put it down on his palm. The purplish thing was nearly as wide as his hand. “Yes, what’s the deal between you and slimy things, eh?” He bumped their shoulders together. “Bad past experiences, eh?”

“You could say that. Let’s just say that I’m not fond of creepy, crawling things.”

“What if I put one in your bedroll?”

“You simply won’t be invited to sleep alongside me in my bedroll.”

“What! That’s too harsh a punishment! I sleep so much better with my head pillowed on your chest! You’re comfy, you know that?”

“ Comfy ,” Zhongli repeated, unsure how he felt about this declaration. 

“And you have the most amazing hands when it comes to petting my hair.” Putting the beetle back into its cage, Itto picked Zhongli’s hand in both of his. “Your hand looks tiny compared to mine.”

Seeing his hand engulfed in the other man’s big paws did something weird to Zhongli’s stomach. “Hmm. It’s an unusual sight for me. I’m usually taller and bigger than everyone else.”

“Maybe it’s why I feel like I won’t break you: you aren’t that small.”

“Are you two going to kiss?” a little girl asked with disgust, cutting short their conversation. “That’s how you make babies, you know? Granny told me not to kiss anyone or I would have a baby! Ewww!”

Itto burst into laughter while Zhongli blushed, embarrassed that the kids had seen them being affectionate with each other. He wasn’t used to public displays of affection.

“Is this really how you make babies?” Itto asked in a falsely innocent voice. His eyes shone bright with mischief.

Zhongli shook his head and got to his feet. “Perhaps that’s how it works for oni, but not for adepti, I’m afraid. Now,” he sidestepped Itto’s hand trying to grab him, “I’m going to wash my hands before supper. Behave with the children.”

-

By the time they’d mostly finished their tour of the countryside, Zhongli was getting ready to return to civilization. He’d lie if he said he didn’t miss hot water, restaurants, comfortable beds, and the chatter of a crowd. 

Therefore, setting foot into Inazuma City felt like a little homecoming. The paved roads, the clean sewers, the neat lines of shops, the air that smelled of cooking food rather than of textile industries, they all reminded him of Liyue Harbour. 

“This restaurant has been there for a few centuries,” Zhongli told Itto as they strolled about. “Even the colour of the awning is the same.”

“Hmm.”

Itto sounded a little distracted, eyes fixed on the palace of the Shogun visible in the distance. He’d yet to get his Vision back and he wanted a rematch with the woman who’d taken it from him. Apparently, she wasn’t very keen on it. It was he, Zhongli learned, who had been writing on every bulletin board that he was challenging this Kujou Tengu in the hopes of forcing the woman into a rematch.

No luck so far.

“We could visit her headquarters,” Zhongli suggested, touching Itto’s arm to get his attention. 

Itto shook his head and smiled down at him. “Nah, not today. Soon, though.”

Not today. Soon.

Because they both knew that Zhongli coming back to the city meant that he would be going home afterwards. He’d been gone from Liyue for nearly two months already, longer than he’d ever been away. That part of his soul that was linked to his beloved land ached. It was like a piece of him was missing.

And so, Itto would resume his search for his Vision, for the woman who’d taken it from him, after Zhongli had left. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing that he wanted to spend the remainder of their time together. 

“Very well,” Zhongli said after the silence had stretched a little too long for comfort. He looked up at Itto. “How about we find a nice inn for tonight? There’s one I heard was quite good near here.”

Itto brightened. “Excellent idea! It’ll be nice, having a solid roof over our head for once.” He winked. “Not like that time in the stables, eh?”

Yes, that night, a week ago, when they’d found shelter in abandoned stables, only for the roof to cave in on their heads when the rain became too heavy. Although they hadn’t been wounded, neither had found the experience particularly pleasant. Since then, it seemed as if their bags were never quite dry.

Honestly, Zhongli couldn’t wait to get his clothes laundered, and to change into something warm and clean.

“Okay, here is what we’re going to do,” Itto decided with a firm nod. “I’ll get us a room at this inn, and in the meantime, why don’t you check that bookstore? You’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. I know you miss reading.”

“Very well.” Zhongli frowned. “Do you like to read, however? I don’t believe I ever asked.”

“Nah, not really. I find it hard and tiresome. All those words on a page mean nothing and they’re usually difficult to make sense of.”

“I could teach you.”

“Or, you could read aloud from a book for me? Celestia knows I adore the sound of your voice! Sleeping with my head on your lap, while you comb my hair and read to me? Sounds like heaven!”

Zhongli nodded, suddenly unable to talk because of the waves of emotions cresting inside him. There was no time to teach Itto anything, especially not something as time-consuming as reading. 

He watched Itto saunter off, heart in his throat. He felt torn, like his whole being was being pulled into two directions. It hurt everywhere. It made it difficult to breathe. It was like there was a great weight pressing down on his chest, threatening to crush him. Neither leaving nor staying would fix it, and Zhongli knew that, either way he chose to go, he was going to end up hurting.

He heaved a sigh. His eyes drifted to the little rectangle of sea he could see between two buildings. Liyue was in that direction, beckoning him home. He wanted to go home. He yearned for it, for the familiarity of his city, of his people, of his own language. He missed the gorgeous golden colours of Liyue Harbour, the endless peaks of Jueyun Karst, the brooding stone spears of Guyun Stone Forest. He missed his own little apartment, where everything was tidy and in its place, where there was running water and a comfortable bed.

He missed his people--Miss Hu Tao, Xiao, Ganyu, the adepti, his colleagues, the familiar faces of the restaurant owners he visited daily. He missed his long walks by the beach to count the ships. He missed the children playing pirates, always trying to drag him into their games.

He missed the warmth Liyue brought him. He missed the memories associated with the place, both the good and the bad. 

He also missed visiting Azhdaha’s resting place. Sometimes, he’d go to that great tree, sit at its foot, and talk to the man who used to own his heart. He could sense Azhdaha listening, could imagine hearing his voice in the rustling of the leaves overhead.

What would Azhdaha think of all this? Of his coming to Inazuma and outrageously flirting with Itto? Would he be amused, or would he sense that Zhongli was behaving this way mostly because Itto reminded him of him?

Was he flirting with Itto only because he reminded him of Azhdaha? He was no longer sure. He did enjoy the younger man’s presence. His wits, his sense of humour, his eagerness to please, his urgency to help his people, they were all traits Zhongli admired in someone. And there was also no denying the physical attraction either. Itto was good-looking. He was the picture perfect of everything Zhongli found attractive in a man. 

Perhaps if they had been two different people, things would have been different. If neither of them had felt such attachment to their homeland, maybe a romance between them would have been possible. As it stood, Zhongli knew he’d never agree to stay in Inazuma, and he also knew Itto would never agree to move to Liyue.

It was all doomed.

Why, then, had he felt the urge to come to Inazuma? Why that itch, that need? Had it been to meet Itto, only for them to go their separate ways after a few weeks? If so, what was the point? Had it been so he would revisit a place filled with happy memories? Because, if that were the case, the pain of losing Azhdaha was made worse for it. 

Zhongli heaved a sigh--he didn’t think he would find an answer to all those questions by standing there in the middle of the road. 

He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment. Uncharacteristically for him, he didn’t want to dwell on them. He wanted just a few more days of peace before he had to go back and ponder those conundrums.

As Itto had suggested, he visited the small bookshop, looking for anything light he could read before leaving. Modern novels seemed to be in fashion and he chose one mostly at random, thinking that maybe the simple language would be enough to entice Itto to read it. The cheap rice paper crinkled under his fingers as he thumbed through the pages. 

On the way to the inn, he took a detour by the waterfront to inquire about ships bound for Liyue. It hurt to do so, but he knew he could no longer put it off. The wharfs bustled with activity. Sailors went about their business while longshoremen helped unload cargo. Many stalls had been erected and children ran about, screaming. The open ocean stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. The sunlight reflected off the waves. Seagulls cried and whirled around the masts of the docked ships. 

It was a familiar sight that brought him little comfort. He also couldn’t shake that sense of déjà vu either. It hadn’t been as bad in the countryside where he hadn’t gone with Azhdaha. But here, it was everywhere, pressing in on him from every side. It made him feel like he had one foot in the past and one foot in the present. 

“Zhongli, hey, you okay?” A warm hand touched his back.

“Azh--” Zhongli swallowed and looked up at Itto’s worried face. “Itto. What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? I’ve been waiting for you at the inn for a couple of hours. The woman at the bookstore told me you left an hour ago.” Itto frowned. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look pale.” Gently, he reached up, his finger brushing Zhongli’s cheek.

An hour ago? He’d been standing here for an hour? Zhongli blinked, trying to make sense of this. The sun had shifted in the sky. One of the ships that had been loading the rest of its cargo had departed, leaving its berth empty. 

There was a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. When he looked at it, he saw it was a hastily scribbled date, hour, and the name of a ship. 

His ticket home, apparently.

“I nearly called you by someone else’s name,” Zhongli confessed. He folded the piece of paper neatly and put it away in his pocket. 

“Azhdaha, right?”

Zhongli’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? How do you know?”

Itto smiled and shrugged one shoulder. “You talk in your sleep a little. You would sometimes call me Azhdaha when I hugged you.”

“Oh.” Embarrassment flooded him. “I apologize.”

“Don’t. It’s fine. I figured a gorgeous guy like you would have someone.”

Zhongli shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. Come, walk with me, I’ll tell you.”

And so he did.

They walked the length and breadth of the city while he talked, not going into details in case Itto might figure out his true identity. At first, he’d planned to keep the retelling short, sticking only to the important parts. Instead, he found himself talking more about Azhdaha himself than about the events that led to him being sealed away. Itto listened quietly, head cocked and expression thoughtful. He didn’t interrupt much, and Zhongli found himself hoping it meant he understood. 

“So, this Azhdaha bloke, he hasn’t been in the picture for a long time, then,” Itto concluded. They’d come full circle, now standing in front of the quaint inn they’d agreed to stay at.

Most of the afternoon had gone by. The sky was darkening already. Restaurants were filling up. 

Zhongli nodded. “Yes.”

“But you still love him.”

“After a fashion. Feelings are not… logical, and they therefore make little sense to me.”

Itto clicked his tongue. He chucked Zhongli under the chin, making him raise his head. “So what you’re saying is that you’ve been lonely all this time.”

Zhongli hesitated. “Loneliness is subjective.”

“No, it’s not. You can admit it to me, Zhongli, there’s no shame in that. I understand how it feels too, you know.”

Had he been lonely? Yes, Zhongli supposed he had been. He had simply grown used enough to it that he could ignore it most of the time. At other times, however, that loneliness threatened to engulf him completely. It was then that he sought out Venti--it was either that or lose his mind.

“It’s unfair to you, that I’ve latched onto you simply because you remind me of Azhdaha.”

“Perhaps you noticed me because of him, but I don’t think that’s why you’ve been trailing after me for the past two months. I’ve never felt like you were seeing someone else when you look at me.”

Zhongli had no idea what to say. Guilt gnawed at him, and he could only hope that Itto was being honest, that he wasn’t saying this to spare his feelings. 

“I’m going back to Liyue in three days,” Zhongli said. The paper burned in his pocket. 

“Then it means I have you for three more days.”

-

Zhongli had no idea how Itto managed it, but, after their talk, he behaved as if nothing had changed. He laughed and smiled and joked the same as he had before, drawing Zhongli in with his warm personality. It was easy to get lost in that warmth, in the companionship. 

Itto, Zhongli realised, made him behave out of character. Never before had Zhongli been in the habit of ignoring his worries. He was too old and too jaded to believe that not thinking about a problem would make it go away. He wasn’t the type of man to run away from anything either. He always confronted things head on and dealt with the fallout. 

He didn’t think Itto was the kind of person to lie to himself either, but somehow, together, they did it. They had a quiet supper at a nearby restaurant, talking as if Zhongli would not be gone in three days. Itto recounted happy memories from his youth, how he had loved hiding bugs in his friends’ shoes and how proud he’d been when he’d bested his old training master. 

And he got Zhongli to talk too. Not talk about inane things like the ingredients in their meal or the shapes of the clouds or the hidden meaning of flowers. He got him to talk about himself . Zhongli had long ago been able to dissociate himself from Rex Lapis. To him, there had been Morax and Rex Lapis, two distinct people. Morax had been his persona for his friends and family, for those he was close to. Rex Lapis had been his public persona, the one he showed to the world, the one that was always written about. Few texts talked about Morax nowadays and Zhongli was happy about it. His private life wasn’t meant to be exposed.

It was easy to talk about Morax with Itto, to talk about how he had been arrogant and willful and stubborn, about how angry he’d been at being smaller than the rest of the dragons in his pack, about how it made him lash out. Talking about Morax was like recounting the life of someone else, Zhongli thought, someone he might be distantly related to. Morax had felt too deeply, too intently, too strongly, and Zhongli’s own feelings were but a mere shadow of it. Everything was muted. Sometimes, he thought that everything he was feeling was a mere echo, a remembrance of what Morax had felt too strongly.

The only thing he truly regretted was not being able to tell the truth about his identity. Even after knowing Itto for nearly two months, he couldn’t begin to imagine his reaction should he learn Zhongli had been the geo archon. Zhongli didn’t want to deal with this, with the fallout, with the possibility that Itto’s opinion of him might change.

He liked the fact that Itto liked Zhongli and not Morax or Rex Lapis.

“So, if I understand well,” Itto said in conclusion, smiling wickedly, “this Azhdaha bloke tamed you, eh?”

Zhongli pondered this for a moment before nodding. “Yes. This seems to be the most fitting explanation.”

“You know what’s the most surprising thing to me in all this? It’s that you needed taming. Nothing of what you told me about your past fits what you are now.”

“I’m old, I’ve had a lot of time to wise up.”

“Still, it’s hard to reconcile the two pictures. I really can’t imagine you being a brat.”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “A brat, yes. Well, I’m quite sure Azhdaha would tell you that I was indeed a brat.” Still smiling, he looked down at his now empty plate. “But that was a long time ago.”

They were seated at a kotatsu, and Itto leaned in, resting his elbows on top of it. “You know, I get the impression that there’s still a tiny part of that brat deep down inside of you.”

“Oh? What makes you think that?”

Itto’s eyes shone bright with mischief. “What happened the other night, after we fought off those masterless samurais. A proper gentleman wouldn’t have done that. A brat masquerading as one, however…”

Heat burst into Zhongli’s face. He cleared his throat, glad that they had relocated to their room rather than discussing this in a public restaurant. “W-well… While it might not have been proper, it was fitting, no? I assure you that this is not the kind of thing I usually do.”

“I certainly hope not! Imagine how hurt I would be if I learned you got down on your knees for just anyone! And here I thought I was special!”

“You are special,” Zhongli blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Because I’m an oni. Because I am big.”

“Don’t tease, Itto, I’m being honest. While I do appreciate your physical appearance, it’s much more than that. I like your candour, your kindness, the way you look positively at everything, how you deal with challenges that life throws at you. Seeing Inazuma through your eyes has been enlightening. You are not jaded. You have hope for the future. You are not even angry at the woman who took your Vision from you and you want to win it back.”

Itto looked flabbergasted by the words, his eyes wide and his mouth opened. Zhongli supposed he hadn’t been expecting such a heartfelt confession. To be honest, Zhongli was a little surprised by it himself. He hadn’t meant to try putting into words what had been churning around in his head (and in his heart) for the past couple of months. 

“It is very odd for me to be infatuated with someone I just met,” Zhongli continued, not sparing himself. He tightened his hands into fists on his lap. “I don’t usually get attached to anyone. I don’t make friends easily--in fact, I haven’t made a proper friend in centuries. It is quite unsettling. It simply feels like I’ve known you for a long, long time. Allow me to go with a cliché: you have an old soul.” He shook his head. “No, no, this doesn’t feel quite right either. Having an old soul would imply that you are jaded--”

“Zhongli, look at me.” Zhongli did and Itto said: “ Stop . Stop trying to put everything into words. Not everything has to make sense. Not everything has to be logical. Also, stop trying to control everything, yourself included. You aren’t a god, you can’t control everything.” He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I have no idea why Rex Lapis granted me a Vision; from what I’ve heard, he was a bore, sticking to the rules and micromanaging everything in Liyue. I can see why he gave you one, though. You’re like his perfect disciple! You know he won’t strike you down if you have a bit of fun, right? There’s time for duty, and there’s time for pleasure.”

Zhongli laughed, he couldn’t stop himself. There was something hilarious at being told that you were both a boring archon and a good disciple. But then, Itto wasn’t wrong either: Rex Lapis had been a boring archon, choosing duty over anything else.

What Itto didn’t know was why Rex Lapis had been this way: duty never failed you. Duty was always there. It didn’t betray you, didn’t turn its back on you, didn’t abandon you. It didn’t die of old age and it didn’t die stabbed through the heart because of you. It didn’t hurt you, didn’t choose someone else over you. Duty was always there whether you liked it or not. It wore you down, it broke your back, but it never broke your heart.

Itto’s hand on his cheek pulled him back to the present. “Celestia above, you look so free and gorgeous when you laugh like that, Zhongli. For a second I thought you’d be pissed at me for making fun of your archon.”

Zhongli leaned into the touch, feeling rough calluses against his skin. “No. I would never be angry at anyone for having an opinion. Your assessment of Rex Lapis isn’t bad, after all. Things might have been easier for him if he had relaxed a little.”

“Wait, I just thought of something, did you know the guy? I mean, weren’t the adepti close to Rex Lapis or something? Oh, hell, I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth again--”

“Itto, be quiet now.”

-

Their bedroom at the inn was nice, nicer than the others they’d stayed in over the last two months. It had none of that musty smell that came with dampness. The sheets had been washed recently and the futons were clean. The tatami mats were new and still smelled vaguely of grass. The kotatsu kept the place pleasantly warm. The small window had a gorgeous view of the harbour, though the shutters had been closed as night fell. There was even a vase of flowers tucked in one corner, a welcomed splash of colour in the otherwise impersonal room.

Zhongli was glad he’d noticed it all before, because with the intense way Itto was kissing him, nothing in the room mattered but the man himself. The empty dishes of their supper lay forgotten as they fell on the single futon. Zhongli barely registered how comfortable it was against his back that his whole attention returned to Itto. 

“What would happen if you missed your ship?” Itto asked in a low, gravely voice, his teeth leaving bruises on Zhongli’s already bruised neck. His hands held his waist firmly, pinning him down on the futon as if he actually considered keeping him from leaving.

Zhongli dug his fingers into Itto’s long hair, tilting his head to the side. He was already getting worked up from a few mere kisses, his mind filling up with smoke and his nerves buzzing. Itto’s touch left fire in its wake. “I’d secure another one,” Zhongli replied, his own voice breathy. Even then, he couldn’t lie.

“Why?”

Itto’s right hand trailed up Zhongli’s naked thigh, up under the hem of the robe he’d put on after bathing. He looked down at him, red eyes inquisitive and desperate for an answer. He appeared so dreadfully young then, like a child asking a parent why they had to go away.

Zhongli cradled his face in his palms. “For the same reason you wouldn’t come with me if I asked.” He traced the red markings on his cheeks. “We have our duties.”

“Fuck duties! Surely working for a funeral parlour isn’t that important?!”

Zhongli shook his head. “There’s nothing more important than duty and you know it, Itto. You’ve proved it to me over and over again in our time together. Don’t let your sadness at my departure cloud the time we have left together.”

Itto’s shoulders shook. His bottom lip trembled, and for a terrifying second, Zhongli thought he would cry. Instead, he bent his head and rested his hot forehead on Zhongli’s collar bone, hair falling all over his shoulders. Zhongli wrapped his arms around his neck, hugging him. He hated this, hated how everything hurt, how nothing could ever truly be good. Although he knew railing against fate was useless, he did wish the two of them were different.

“I might still make you miss your ship, though,” Itto mumbled. “I might make you forget that you have to leave.” His hand on Zhongli’s thigh tightened, fingers digging slightly into his skin.

“If you’re rough with me, I won’t forget to leave.” The grip didn't hurt, but Itto seemed to forget about his long fingernails that might just break the skin if he weren’t careful. “I’m not fragile,” he added when Itto tensed, “but that doesn’t mean I want to be hurt either.”

“Sorry, sorry.” The grip relaxed. “I don’t--”

“You were doing everything perfectly a second ago. Just be gentle and everything will be fine.” Zhongli softened his voice. “I know you can be gentle, I’ve seen it often.”

Itto straightened then, face a bit red. “Okay, gentle, I can do that.”

“There’s no reason to be nervous.”

Itto’s eyes widened. “No reason?! Zhongli, I’ve never had a more beautiful guy under me before! I’ve… I’ve never had any guy under me before either but… but what if I disappoint you? Or look ridiculous? Aww, what if you go home thinking all oni are lame like me?”

“I could never, ever think you are lame, Itto, you know that. If it can make you feel better, let me tell you this: I’ve never been with someone inexperienced before. It’s new territory for me too.”

“Have you… been with many people, then?”

Zhongli blushed a little. “No. Three people, actually.”

“O-oh.” Itto blushed too, scratching his cheek. “That Azhdaha guy, I suppose?”

“Yes. We were in a relationship for a long time.”

“He was a lucky guy, then.”

Zhongli had to chuckle--if only Itto knew how things had ended up between Azhdaha and him, he might revisit this statement. “Honestly, I was the lucky one.”

“Aww, you’re laughing again, you’re so cute when you laugh,” Itto blurted out. “You know, you’ve lost a bit of that unhappy look you had when I met you.” He reached out to touch Zhongli’s cheek tenderly. “You smile more. It’s an awkward smile, but still.” He leaned in again until their noses were almost touching. “I guess I can find a bit of confidence in the fact that I was able to make you smile.”

“That’s good. I do like confident people.”

Itto laughed and kissed him, smiling all the while, sweet even though it was kind of ruining the whole thing. Zhongli combed his fingers through the man’s hair, arching into his warm touch, wanting to feel their bodies pressed together. He could feel that Itto was still hard despite everything and that sent a little jolt of pleasure down his back. 

He let his own hands wander, down Itto’s strong neck, his broad back. Muscles rippled under his touch. His fingertips encountered a few small scars. Itto seemed to melt, relaxing until he was practically purring. His kisses became sloppy and he decided to return to Zhongli’s neck, biting at it with renewed vigour as if he truly wanted to mark him. Embarrassingly, Zhongli had a weak spot for possessiveness, and the way Itto turned from playful to possessive left him reeling. 

Suddenly, one hand was back on his thigh, sliding up under his robe, pushing up the fabric. Itto’s hips bucked into his own like he couldn’t wait to get started. His biting kisses went from Zhongli’s neck to his collar bones next, his sharp teeth leaving fire in their wake. Zhongli wrapped one leg around Itto’s waist, trying to pull him closer, gasping as their erections brushed together.

Then, Itto was grabbing his hip and rolling him on his front. It happened so quickly that Zhongli registered the movement only when his nose encountered the soft fabric of the futon. His unbound hair fell into his face and he could do little but go with it when Itto tugged him to his knees. He didn’t have enough brain power to be embarrassed at how eagerly he deepened the arch of his spine. His breath was caught somewhere in his chest and air no longer properly made its way up to his head. Lust swirled in him, warming his blood, turning his skin sensitive to every hint of a touch.

“You look so good like that,” Itto said, sounding both embarrassed and amazed. His hands tightened on Zhongli’s waist, as if afraid he’d try to move away. 

Zhongli glanced over his shoulder. Itto’s eyes were large and dark, and his canines seemed to glow in the candle light. Sweat had broken out on his skin. His cheeks were reddened. He had, however, lost that shy look. There was only hunger twisting his features now, a similar hunger that Zhongli felt simmering in his stomach. 

“Itto,” he said, voice a little rough. “In my pack. There’s a bottle. It’s oil. We’ll need it.”

“I’ll get it only if you promise not to move.” 

Zhongli buried his face into his arms, mouth tugging up into a smile he desperately wanted to hide. He nodded and he heard Itto shuffle around, mumbling under his breath. There was the rustling of fabric, of clothes, then the tiny, faint click of sharp fingernails encountering cheap glass. Zhongli had gotten the oil from a travelling apothecary a couple of days ago. The man had given him a conspiratorial grin that had made him blush to the roots of his hair. It had been a little embarrassing, but also a little thrilling. Zhongli hadn’t lied to himself about the reason why he was getting oil--he was buying it for the sole reason that he wanted to sleep with Itto.

(It was a little embarrassing to consider how much he actually wanted this.)

And, given how excited Itto was now behaving, he supposed it had been a good purchase. There was something utterly charming about the younger man’s enthusiasm, about his honest reactions. It all made Zhongli feel… warmed , wanted. It was so heady. It made him feel drunk.

“Okay,” Itto said with a sharp exhale, resuming his position behind Zhongli. “I got a vague idea of what to do. But can you like… run me through it?”

Run him through it--Zhongli closed his eyes, appalled at what he’d have to say. It was all fine and well to do it, but somehow, speaking about it out loud felt too strange. 

Instead, he sat back up, trying not to laugh at Itto’s visibly disappointed expression. The younger man’s robe had fallen open, revealing his muscled chest. Zhongli’s eyes travelled the broad length of his torso, and suddenly he had a much better idea on how to go on about this.

“How about,” Zhongli began, taking the small bottle of oil from Itto’s hand, “we do this a different way.”

Itto nodded eagerly, evidently trusting him. Seeing his reddened, eager face was utterly endearing. Zhongli’s heart swelled a little in his chest in a way he wasn’t sure he liked--feelings were already involved, but he didn’t want them to grow more imposing.

Instead of thinking about this, he grabbed Itto’s shoulder and pushed him on his back. Itto went with the movement easily, his surprised expression morphing into one of pleasure when Zhongli straddled his hips. His hands returned to Zhongli’s waist. Looking down, Zhongli saw, with a little shiver of excitement, that the large hands had no trouble circling his whole waist. 

“Again, you look good like that,” Itto said, grinning. He seemed to be regaining his confidence now that Zhongli was taking back the lead. This was interesting, a show of maturity that Zhongli hadn’t quite expected to encounter in someone so young. Usually, younger men tended to feel insecure if they weren’t leading, even if they didn't know how to do so.

Zhongli had no idea if he looked good, but he knew it felt good. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of that hard length pressed against his backside. There was only the thin cloth of their robes separating their skin now. Itto was hard and throbbing, clearly raring to go.

“So do you,” Zhongli said, opening his eyes to look down at the other man. The pure lust shining in Itto’s gaze sent a fresh wave of arousal pooling down in his belly. He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts to remain calm. 

Itto laughed, the loud sound echoing in the otherwise empty bedroom. “You look so out of it already, Zhongli! I knew I was handsome, but I didn't think it would be enough to render a revered adeptus speechless!” He gentled his voice, eyes going soft. “I like that, like seeing you lose control. You’re usually always so calm and poised. It’s nice, seeing you dishevelled and flushed.”

Was he dishevelled and flushed? Zhongli imagined he was--his face was indeed hot and his hair fell in disarray around his shoulders. 

He minded a little. Itto was technically still a stranger. They’d known each other for no longer than two months. Usually, Zhongli wished to appear his best in front of strangers. He liked projecting the image of a calm, poised person. 

But right now, this seemed like a silly thing to worry about. After all, Itto didn’t look much better--he too was dishevelled and flustered. 

Except that, in Itto, it looked appealing rather than appaling. The lust twisting his features made him look feral : his bright red eyes, his sharp teeth, his horns, the way he smiled like a wolf facing its prey. That was how he looked, like a predator about to eat its prey.

Zhongli almost understood how an ordinary human being could be put off by this. Anyone not knowing Itto wouldn’t know how great his self control was. Looking at him this way was almost scary because he seemed to be a second away from snapping. He looked ready to tear Zhongli apart with those sharp teeth and sharper claws.

But Zhongli wasn’t afraid; he was enthralled. 

“This,” Zhongli said after clearing his throat again. He held up the vial of oil. “This oil is used to ease the way. It would be way too painful for me otherwise.”

Itto’s brows knitted in worry. “Oh.”

“But you won’t hurt me, don’t worry.” Zhongli uncorked the bottle. A vague aroma of flowers filled the room. He couldn’t stop himself from bestowing a small, challenging smile at the other man. “Didn’t I tell you I like my partners big?”

“I thought you meant big in the sense of tall…!”

“No, I meant big in the sense of big everywhere .”

“Were you already hungry for my cock back when we met?”

Zhongli was so surprised by the comment that he nearly dropped the bottle. A bit of oil fell on his palm instead of on his fingers. His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

Itto grinned, visibly glad to have destabilized him. “Hey, just trying to lighten the mood. It’s fine if you were. I’d lie if I said I didn’t notice your gorgeous ass when I met you.”

Zhongli hung his head, letting his hair fall into his face. He had to hide his smile. By the Archons, smiling like a loon the way he’d been doing around Itto was bound to strain the muscles of his cheeks. 

“You’re impossible,” he grumbled. He put the vial to the side, making sure it wouldn’t topple or be knocked over. “Why do I have to find the mouthiest partners?”

“Because we’re the most handsome?”

Zhongli chuckled, unable to stop himself. He shook his head, refusing to think about a tiny, mouthy partner he occasionally met who definitely wasn’t handsome.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. Perhaps the mouthiest partners were the most handsome, but perhaps it was also because Zhongli, secretly, enjoyed a good verbal sparring. “But, thankfully, I know how to keep people quiet.”

Rising to his knees and leaning on one hand, he reached behind himself.

The oil felt slightly cool against his heated skin. Barely noticing it, he deepened the arch of his back and widened his knees. His eyes slipped closed when the first finger breached him. The angle wasn’t the most comfortable for his wrist, but he barely noticed it. He hadn’t done this in a while and the first couple of fingers were slightly painful.

It didn’t help that he could almost smell Itto’s excitement. It made Zhongli want to hurry, made him want to skip that part and go for the fun part immediately. He could take Itto with little preparation, he knew. He wasn’t human, his body would accommodate the impressive girth one way or the other. 

But he didn’t hurry, because hurrying wasn’t in Zhongli's nature. Zhongli was patient and calm and composed, even in bed. Furthermore, he told himself as he scissored his fingers, he wasn’t doing this only for himself. His mind wasn’t too clouded by lust and need that he forgot this was all new to Itto. He had to show him how this was done properly. It was doubtful his future partners would be an adeptus.

“Okay, this is way too hot,” Itto breathed, voice coming strangled. “Can I touch you or something? I like your waist, but I really want to touch you elsewhere.”

Zhongli nodded, keeping his eyes closed. Immediately, one of Itto’s hands was on his ass, his fingers joining Zhongli’s. His long claws grazed his skin, not painfully, but in a way that sent a jolt up his spine. An embarrassing noise nearly found its way out of his throat. He clamped his teeth shut and leaned in a bit more, trying to reach deeper inside him.

When one of Itto’s fingers pushed into his hole, Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from moaning. The stretch was easier now, but even then, there was a slight sting, and he couldn’t stop thinking about those wicked claws. He forced himself to relax, to trust Itto, to trust that he’d be careful. 

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Itto mumbled, sounding half-drunk. “Is that normal?”

Zhongli chuckled breathlessly. “Yes. It has been a while since I have done this.” He hesitated a second before saying: “You can add another finger. I’ll remove mine.” How he managed to sound this composed was beyond him.

Itto obeyed. Although tension knotted every one of his muscles, the second finger he slipped into Zhongli’s hole was steady and gentle. The way he curved them kept his fingernails from the fragile, sensitive flesh. His knuckles scraped against Zhongli’s walls, making tiny fireworks spark behind his closed eyelids. 

Zhongli reached behind him, grabbing Itto’s wrist to steady him. He hung his head, mouth opening in a quiet groan when Itto’s fingers brushed his prostate. His muscles quivered and his senses burst with how good it felt. 

“Enough, enough,” he panted. 

“Why? It’s kind of fun, seeing you react like this.”

And Itto stabbed his fingers into that bundle of nerves. Zhongli gasped and his whole body tightened. He nearly came on the spot. He reached between his legs, his cock hard and leaking, and squeezed to stop himself from coming. The world was on fire and the liquid heat in his belly was almost too much to bear. 

“Shit,” Itto said and removed his fingers slowly. “Keep moaning like that and I won’t last long.”

Zhongli shook his head and chuckled. He straightened, sitting back on Itto’s hips to look down at him. “I have ways of making you last longer, if you’d like.”

“How?” Itto quirked an eyebrow. He grinned. “You don’t look like you’ll last long either.”

Zhongli grasped Itto’s cock, squeezing it hard at the root in a way that made the man gasp. “If I keep squeezing here, you’ll last longer.”

“Y-you wouldn’t do that, right? Zhongli, you’re too nice to torture me like that.”

“Indeed.” Zhongli slackened his hold without letting go. “My younger self wouldn’t have been this nice, however.”

“Perhaps we can channel your younger self later? I’m not averse to anything you can do to me. Just… I’m about to beg for you to do something because I’m so hard it’s getting painful.”

“I won’t make you beg.” Zhongli looked straight at Itto then, making sure their eyes met. “But, Itto, are you certain you want to do this? We barely know each other, after all, and we both know this won’t last--”

Itto muffled Zhongli’s next words with the palm of his hand. His face grew fierce, his eyes intent. “Don’t finish that sentence, Zhongli. You’re going to keep quiet and sit on my cock. For the next three days, I don’t want to hear a word about you leaving.”

Zhongli obeyed.

-

The morning of the day of his departure dawned grey. The sun was only rising, barely lightening up their small rented bedroom.

Zhongli, still half-asleep, watched the light filtering around the half-closed shutters. Behind him, one arm wrapped around his waist and face pressed into his long unbound hair, Itto snored. 

They hadn’t talked about Zhongli leaving. They hadn’t talked much except for the banter and the occasional tips Zhongli gave his young, eager lover. 

And it had been fine. It had been fine not to talk, not to think, not to plan or dread the future. It had been terrifyingly easy for Zhongli to put his brain on the backburner. Or, no, not that terrifyingly easy. He had come to learn that he could easily shut the door on his thoughts under the right conditions.

Having sex was one of those right conditions, he was embarrassed to admit even in the privacy of his own mind. Sex, and also good company, and exhaustion. 

Itto had provided all three. The sex had left a little to be desired to be honest, but Itto was an excellent student and he made up for his lack of experience with a lot of enthusiasm. He also proved yet again to be excellent company, able to keep quiet as much as he was able to fill the air with mindless chatter. And, well, he’d exhausted Zhongli with his seemingly endless stamina. It had been easy to sleep and nap, and not think.

But the time for thinking was back, and it had returned with a vengeance. Zhongli tightened his grip on the bedsheets, envisioning all he still had to do before he had to board his ship. Packing his few belongings was one of them. He also wanted to bathe and eat, knowing food would be the last thing he’d be interested in on the boat. He also had to formulate a goodbye to Itto. 

He supposed this had been in the back of his mind over the last three days despite everything. His unconscious mind had tried coming up with the correct way to say goodbye. He wanted it to be heartfelt and painless and quick. This was how he always said goodbye--he couldn’t linger over it, couldn’t drag it on. It was how he’d said goodbye to Azhdaha when he’d sealed him away. It was how he’d said goodbye to Guizhong when she’d died in his arms. It was how he’d said goodbye to his godhood when he’d chosen to retire.

Quick. Painless. No strings attached. With no possibility of going back.

(He had slipped, though, especially when it came to Azhdaha. How often, during his darkest, loneliest nights, had he considered freeing him? Not because his mind had been cured, not because the erosion had been fixed, but only because Zhongli’s feelings hurt so much that he felt he could no longer bear the separation. He hadn’t been able to fully sever the cords that linked them.)

The truth was, Zhongli was weak. His heart wasn’t made of stone no matter how much he wished it were. His feelings were always just below the surface, protected from the world by the thinnest carapace. Most of the time, he could remain aloof. 

Yet when he felt, he felt too deeply. When he loved, he loved too hard. His feelings were the true stones: tough, unyielding, unbreakable. Time would get the better of them, he was sure. Erosion would grind them into sand eventually.

But not yet.

It had been millennia since he’d imprisoned Azhdaha and he still loved the man. Perhaps not as much as before, but Zhongli was too old to fool himself about his own feelings. It was simply that, unlike his younger self, he had learned to ignore them and focus on his duty. 

His duty in sealing Azhdaha had been to protect Liyue. 

His duty in retiring had been to put a hold on the erosion of his mind and to make it easier for him to be sealed away if he ever became dangerous. 

“You think so loud,” Itto mumbled, startling Zhongli. “I’m sure they can hear your mind churning all the way to Liyue.”

“Good morning.”

Itto hugged him tighter, his strong arm pulling him closer to his chest. “Yeah, good morning to you too. I’d ask what got your panties in a twist, but I know the answer to that and I know you’re not wearing any.”

Zhongli couldn’t stop himself from chuckling. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hm-hm. I only wish we hadn’t slept at all. Seems like a waste of time.” His hand travelled down from Zhongli’s waist to his crotch. “But maybe we could make up for lost time.”

As tempting as it was, Zhongli shook his head. Immediately, the hand returned chastely to his waist. “It would be better if we don’t.”

“If you think me not fondling you is going to make it easier to let you go, you’re sorely mistaken. I would have had a hard time letting you leave even if you hadn’t let me do all those nasty things to you for the last three days.”

“Nasty things,” Zhongli repeated, trying not to smile. He hesitated for a moment and sat up to look down at the other man. Itto was as rumpled as the bedsheets around them, his white hair dishevelled and his eyes hazy with sleep. “In the end, no matter what we did, I still have to go.”

Itto sighed. He gently took a strand of Zhongli’s hair and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, I know. By the way, was it my imagination or did the tip of your hair glow last night?”

Ah, yes, it did happen, when Zhongli lost control and his geo powers escaped from his grasp. Keeping a leash on your powers could get tricky when you had a thick cock nestled deep inside you. Cheeks burning, he said: “It was probably a trick of the light.”

“I thought I might have satisfied you enough to convince you to stay.” Itto said this with a grin that wasn’t quite as confident as usual.

“You did, satisfy me, I mean.”

“Good.” Emotions played across the younger man’s face; sadness and annoyance and a hint of stubbornness that made him square his jaw. “But you still have to go.”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t justify himself. “Just as you can’t leave.”

Itto chewed on this for a moment, his fingers still rubbing a strand of Zhongli’s hair. They remained silent as the room lightened, both of them unhappy and both of them unable to do anything about it.  

Then, Itto sat up, all business-like. “Well, better start packing. We have to vacate the room by noon.”

-

The ship that would take Zhongli home wasn’t much different from the one that had brought him to Inazuma. A merchant vessel, it was bound for Liyue for a quick stop before going on its way towards Sumeru. 

Zhongli and Itto stood on the docks, buffeted by the habitual hustle and bustle of the port. Children laughed and played. Merchants exposed their wares on stalls. Street vendors made quick business selling cheap trinkets. A few young people were selling regional delicacies to the foreigners disembarking from a small ship. 

The sea looked grey and as flat as a mirror. It didn’t reflect the inner turmoil that soured Zhongli’s belly and filled his mouth with the taste of copper. Once again, he was left with the feeling that he was being torn asunder: half his heart wanted to stay and half his heart wanted to leave. His mind was scolding him, telling him he had no right to have feelings for Itto, for a man he’d just met and would most likely never see again. It wasn’t logical , and hadn’t Zhongli always prided himself on being logical?

For example, his need to visit Inazuma had been logical, hadn’t it? He hadn’t come here on a whim, hadn’t he?

But yes, he had come here on a whim. After two months, he still couldn’t be certain why the urge to visit Inazuma had made itself known. It had simply been there, impossible to ignore, and he had followed it. There had been no logic to it. It had been a feeling that Zhongli had chased.

He supposed what he could learn from the whole experience was that feelings should not be chased. If he’d been logical about the whole thing and remained in Liyue, he wouldn’t be feeling like his heart was being crushed right now. He wouldn’t be considering lengthening his stay, wouldn’t be composing a letter in his mind to Miss Hu Tao telling her he had no idea when he’d be back. He wouldn’t be composing another letter to Xiao and Ganyu, informing them that he was all right and could they please continue keeping an eye on Liyue for him? 

“Hey,” Itto said, touching his arm gently, “that frown is back.”

For a second, Zhongli had no idea what the man meant. Then, he remembered their first meeting, and how Itto had said he didn’t like the sad look on his face. “I apologize,” Zhongli said with a shake of his head. He sighed, then took in a deep breath of the briny air. “I was thinking about my reason for visiting Inazuma. I still haven’t figured out why I came.”

“Why should there be a reason? Can’t a guy just board a boat and go wherever he wants to?”

“Not this guy,” Zhongli said ruefully, gesturing at himself. “This guy doesn’t go on a walk before minimally planning it first.”

“Why?”

“I do not like surprises. I do not like not knowing what’s ahead. Planning saves a lot of trouble.”

“But it’s boring.”

“No.”

“I think what you want to say is that planning saves a lot of heartache, not a lot of trouble. It’s the same reason why you hide behind duty.”

Zhongli was a little taken aback by the comment. He frowned--Itto was looking down at him with his arms crossed and his feet firmly planted, as if he were expecting an argument and wouldn’t be budged. “Itto--”

“You know, I saw the Shogun once.” Itto cut him off, squaring his jaw. His eyes drifted to the Shogun’s palace they could vaguely see in the distance. “I saw her when she executed someone. When she used her powers, the tip of her hair glowed. Her eyes did too. They shone purple--not golden.”

Zhongli’s heart sank. Suddenly, his bag seemed to weigh a ton. His shoulders drooped. He felt as he had as a child and Guizhong had caught him doing something naughty--except now it was ten times worse. 

“I don’t mind,” Itto told him, voice gentle. He laughed, and the sound was both self-deprecating and angry. “Hell, I’m kind of honoured! But it also explains so much.” He shook his head. “Of course the only guy I ever wanted is not only a foreigner that cannot stay, he has to be a frigging adepti and a frigging arch--”

“That’s enough, Itto. Let’s not spoil our time together by quarrelling now. I apologize for never telling you the truth. I hid this truth once from someone who could have become a friend. Therefore, I should have known better than to hide it again.”

“That explains why you can’t stay, though. You’re too linked to Liyue to ever consider staying away.”

“That is a gentle way of saying I’m selfish.”

“Selfish?” Itto repeated, sounding surprised. “You’re not. You think I can’t see through your mask? You think I can’t tell you’d stay if you could?” He reached out and cradled Zhongli’s face in his big hands, tilting his head up. “You’re not the only person who sees others for who they truly are, Zhongli.”

Zhongli had no idea what to say. He closed his eyes, wanting to remember the feel of those strong, callused fingers so gently holding his jaw. “I hate that I have to lose everyone I hold dear,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind.

“Losing? You’re not going to lose me, Zhongli. I’ll always be right here whenever you feel like visiting Inazuma.”

What could he answer? How could he make Itto understand? There were no words powerful enough to express the deep anguish that had settled in his heart like a lump. There was no way to accurately describe the pit of loneliness that nestled in his chest like a dead organ. Itto was too young to understand, too young to realise what being lonely for so long could do to a person.

Instead of saying all this, he whispered: “Kiss me one last time.”

-

Liyue was home. Liyue was warm and safe and familiar. Zhongli was glad to be back. Honestly. He had missed everything about his homeland.

But it felt colder than before, somehow. His home, which he had furnished and decorated to his liking, no longer felt like home. Or, not quite like home. He knew the feeling would pass, knew that, in a few days, leaving again would seem like a ridiculous thing to do.

Yet, for the moment, as he sat on his favourite chair with a cup of tea, all he could think about was Itto and his parting words:

‘You wonder why you came to Inazuma,’ he’d said while they were watching the passengers embark on the ship bound for Liyue. ‘What if the reason is simply so you met someone new? So you know you can always come back here. What if the reason has nothing to do with the past, but everything to do with the future?’

‘You’re talking as if I can somehow predict the future. Being an archon had many perks, but being a fortune teller was never one of those.’

Itto had grinned then, that infectious, devil-may-care grin. ‘It has nothing to do with seeing the future, Zhongli! I bet you sensed me all the way to Liyue, just as I sensed you in that village. You think it's a coincidence that we met there? Nah. I had a nagging feeling that I had to be there. And, low and behold, we met.’

Had Itto been right, Zhongli wondered. Had their meeting somehow been preordained? Was there a higher power at play, one he’d never believed in? He wasn’t so sure. If that were the case, this meant that this power threw him into Itto’s arms, knowing he’d end up hurt.

He sighed then took a sip of his purely Liyuen tea. Warmth spread through his body. Gazing out the window, he could see the harbour, busy as ever. Children were playing and merchants were selling their wares and boats were getting ready to depart. Nothing had changed. He’d been gone for two months and everything was still the same. But Liyue endured. It didn’t remain stuck in time like Inazuma. It went with the flow of the seasons, cresting each wave rather than bracing against it. 

What had been his reason to go to Inazuma? A whim or an obligation? He still couldn’t tell. It bothered him not to know, though not as much as he had expected.

Perhaps the sole goal of this trip had been to get him out of his house, out of his habits. He did feel better than he had ever since he’d given up his godhood. His mind felt clearer, his body healthier. It had been good to help people, to get on his knees in the dirt and weed a garden or to fix a wooden fence. It had felt like he’d done something concrete. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the grateful faces of those he had helped.

He wouldn’t forget Itto, that was for sure. Itto, with his big smile and large presence, with his callused hands and nuggets of wisdom. Itto, who had liked Zhongli and not Morax or Rex Lapis.

He finished his cup of tea and went to his bedroom to finish unpacking. His garments smelled of the sea and would need washing. He’d bought a few books that would need cataloguing before being added to his small bookshelf. The knickknacks he’d brought, one being the shell of a onikabuto of all things, would need to be sorted and stored.

At the bottom of his pack, his hand encountered a spiky object. Surprised, he pulled it out, sure that everything he’d taken to Inazuma and everything he’d bought there was accounted for.

Bringing the object to the light, he saw, to his astonishment, that it was a comb. Itto’s comb, the one he’d carried in his pocket and used at least ten times a day to be sure he didn't have a strand of hair out of place. Oni are proud . 

The comb was nothing to write home about. Made of maple wood, it gleamed dully in the ray of sunlight. It was visibly old, worn, the wood scuffed and scarred. It fitted perfectly in his palm. There was no monetary value to it. It was probably a comb that Itto had carved himself. 

Zhongli closed his fingers around it, heart hammering away in his chest. Remembering Itto using the comb was as easy as breathing. It had amused Zhongli to no end, seeing a grown man fussing with his hair this way. 

When he checked through his pack one last time, he saw a piece of paper tucked into the folds at the bottom. Given the way it was folded, he imagined it had been wrapped around the comb. 

In his big, messy handwriting, Itto had written: ‘ You’ll have to bring it back .’

“I will,” Zhongli promised to the piece of paper. “I will.”