Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Childe couldn’t believe it. Rex Lapis, Morax. The heavens star was right in front of him all along. Not only that, the oh mighty Rex Lapis lead him on for a whole entire year.

The archon didn’t spare one single glance to Childe during the events in the Northland bank. He spared more glance to the traveler rather than the man he spent every minute of the last year with. 

Childe didn’t know what to do, he didn’t even know how to react to something like this. Sure, getting backstabbed was something that came along with being a harbinger, Childe was used to it. But from Zhongli? Archons it hurt. The harbinger failed to keep his guard up– more like Zhongli slowly stripped it down from him. Little Ajax let himself drown in his own feelings. 

Signora and the traveler had taken their leave, and Zhongli was about to follow. Instead, a sharp grip closed around his wrist before he could take a single step.

Zhongli blinked. “Childe?”

Childe stood behind him, fingers digging into the fabric of Zhongli’s glove hard enough to crease it. His expression was unlike anything Zhongli had seen before, not the reckless grin of battle, not smug amusement, not playful flirtation. He looked furious. He looked hurt.

“Why,” Childe said quietly, “would you do that to me?”

Zhongli frowned faintly, confusion forming on his brows. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

That only made Childe laugh once, sharp and humorless. “Specific, really?”

The Harbinger released him abruptly, pacing a few steps away before turning back again. He wanted to strangle Zhongli on the spot.

“You used me,” he snapped. “That entire time– you fucking used me.”

“In some aspect, perhaps.”

“Oh, shut up.” Childe looked at him accusingly. “Don’t make me sound like a literal child.”

Zhongli stared at him, genuinely confused “I’m not trying to… mock you. I fail to see what exactly has upset you to this extent.”

For a moment, Childe just looked at him. Disbelief slowly spreading across his face.

“You really don’t get it.”

The realization in Childe’s voice made something uncomfortable twist in Zhongli’s chest.

“You lied to me,” Childe said.

“I was under a contract.” 

“Oh, great. Glad we cleared that up.” His voice rose. “The contract that made me a fucking jester in your performance? A clown used for the sole purpose of entertainment.” 

“That was not the intention and you know it.” 

“I don’t know it.” The words cracked through the empty room. Childe ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard now. “Do you have any idea of what this looks like from my side?” 

“You were never in actual danger,” Zhongli said. “Nor was the Traveler. Had Osial become too difficult to contain, I would have intervened.”

Childe stared at him in utter disbelief. “For fucks sake, do I look like I care about that? You think me being in danger– danger was the problem?” Childe’s pitch became louder. “Whatever helps you fucking sleep at night.” 

Zhongli fell silent. Something in Childe’s tone finally pierced through Zhongli’s rock brain.

Long walks through Liyue Harbor at dusk.

Childe leaning against his shoulder on the balcony of the inn after too much osmanthus wine. Hands brushing beneath tables.

The warm press of lips against his knuckles when Ajax thought no one was looking.

A year. They had spent a year together.

Zhongli’s chest tightened faintly. “…Ajax.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Childe shook his head immediately. “You don’t deserve that name.” 

Only now Zhongli was finally beginning to understand the depth of Childe’s feelings. 

“You believed our relationship was genuine.” Zhongli said slowly, more or less to himself rather than Childe. 

“Believed?” 

Zhongli was horrified by his own phrasing. Before he could correct himself Childe continued. 

“So it was all a lie.” Childe didn’t mean to say it out loud. 

“I did not mean–"

“No, go on.” Childe folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me what it was then, to me this all looks like one hell of a planned out manipulation scheme. What, you keep me close to keep an eye on me? Why not seduce me while your at it, I’m the entertainment am I not?”

Zhongli’s composure finally cracked. “I never intended to hurt you!” 

“Well, sorry to burst your bubble. I guess I’m more ‘emotional’ than you thought.” Childe’s voice cracked slightly. 

Zhongli looked at him with an expression that Childe could not quite read. 

“I wrote to my family about you,” He said quietly. “Did you know that?” 

Zhongli blinked, opening his mouth to say something. Childe didn’t let him.

“My siblings knew about you,” Childe laughed bitterly. “Tonia kept asking about when she’d get to meet this Zhongli xiansheng I can’t seem to shut up about.” Childe looked at the consultant before continuing. “Tuecer thought you were kind of boring, but I told him you were secretly sweet once people got to know you.” 

“Ajax–“ 

“No.” Childe turned back towards him, eyes burning now. “You don’t get to stand there and look regretful.” 

“I do regret it.” 

“The contract, or having to spend a year with me?” The words were bitter. 

“Neither, I regret how unclear I’ve been towards you.” Zhongli exhaled softly. “This is so much more complicated than you think, Childe.” 

Childe barked out another laugh. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“You know what else is the truth?” Childe stepped closer again, voice low and steady. “I loved you.” 

The confession, so blunt and honest, struck so much harder than Zhongli expected. 

“And now I can’t even tell if anything between us was real.” 

“Of course it was.” Zhongli answered immediately. 

“Then why didn’t you trust me.” Childe looked Zhongli straight into the eyes. “You could have at least hinted something to me without breaching your contract.” 

Zhongli opened his mouth. Closed it. Because the answer sounded so ugly no matter how he framed it. 

“You know what’s funny?” Childe interrupted his thoughts. “I kept thinking something was wrong with me.” 

Zhongli frowned faintly.

“You always held yourself back,” Childe said. “I noticed it. I just thought… maybe that was how you loved.”

Something painfully close to guilt settled in Zhongli’s chest. “But all this time,” Childe continued softly, “you were never really with me, were you?”

“I was.” Zhongli tried to reason.

“Not fully.” Childe sighed, the realisation sinking in slowly. “You should have just told me the truth.”

“I could not.”

“You could have.”

The certainty in his voice made Zhongli falter. Because perhaps he could have. Not the entirety of it. Not every contract or divine matter. But enough. Enough to spare Childe this humiliation. Enough to show trust in return for what had been freely given to him. Instead he had taken Childe’s affection gently, carefully–

And offered only fragments of himself back.

“I care for you,” Zhongli said quietly.

Childe laughed hollowly. “Care for me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all?”

Zhongli hesitated. He realized, with growing horror, that he did not know how to answer in a way that would not make things worse. For thousands of years, Morax spent his time building Liyue from scratch, fighting in the Archon war. Yet, this felt impossible.

“I am not practiced in these matters,” he admitted at last.

“Oh, don’t give me that.” Childe’s eyes flashed. “You don’t get to act clueless now. You knew exactly what you were doing every time you held my hand. Every time you let me kiss you. Every time you looked me in the eye and told me you trusted me.”

Zhongli looked away briefly. That alone was answer enough.

“Wow,” Childe whispered. The disappointment in his voice hurt far more than the shouting had. “Im so fucking stupid.”

“You are not.”

“I was.” Childe smiled bitterly. “I thought maybe someone like you could actually love me.”

“I do.” The words came instinctively.

Childe stared at him, searching his face desperately as if trying to determine whether this was another lie. Zhongli himself looked unsettled by the confession; it was true.

Somewhere between shared dinners and quiet evenings and Childes relentless warmth, he had fallen in love without noticing when exactly it happened. But love did not erase what he had done and judging by Childe’s expression, it was far too late.

“You have a terrible way of showing it,” Childe said finally.

Zhongli closed his eyes briefly. “Yes,” he admitted. “I am sorry, Ajax.”

Childe looked at him sharply. There was no defensiveness left in Zhongli now, only pure regret 

“I misjudged the consequences of my actions,” Zhongli continued. “I believed I could separate necessity from personal matters. I see now that I was mistaken.”

“You lied to me for a year. You manipulated me. You let me fall in love with someone who didn’t even trust me enough to tell me his real name.”

Each accusation landed cleanly. Zhongli accepted them all. “I know.”

“And now you’re apologizing because you finally realized you were wrong?” Childe laughed weakly, shaking his head. “You really are unbelievable.”

“I do not expect forgiveness.” Zhongli felt something sink heavily inside him.

Childe swallowed hard before speaking again.“You know what the worst thing is?” he asked quietly. “Part of me still wants to believe you.”

Zhongli said nothing.

“But I can’t.” Childe took a shaky breath. “Because if I do, then I’m just letting you hurt me all over again.”

“I would not.”

“You already did.”

The simplicity of that statement left no room for argument.

Childe stepped towards the entrance of the bank. For the first time since entering the room, Zhongli looked genuinely uncertain.

“Ajax.”

“No.” Childe’s voice hardened again instantly. “Don’t.”

Childe looked at him one last time before opening the door and leaving Zhongli behind within the walls of the Northalnd bank. 

Zhongli couldn’t do anything but watch. Although the two of them confessed, one clearly emphasised the past tense while the other preached in present. Zhongli’s preaching was too late.

He didn’t chase after Childe because at this point, the archon felt this is what he deserved. All he truly knew was that– regardless of how much he could give to Childe, he deserved so much better. Zhongli wished he could be that person, yet he knew he couldn’t.  

The very next day, Childe stood at the gangplank with one gloved hand curled around the rail so tightly the leather creaked. The salt-heavy air clawed through his coat and tangled in his hair yet he barely noticed. 

He refused to look back at Liyue. If he looked back to long, he might stay.  

The thought irritated him enough to finally move. He climbed the aboard with sharp, decisive steps, boots striking wet wood and the sailor immediately pulled the gang plank away from the dock. 

No dramatic farewell. Perhaps it was dramatic in its own way.

Childe exhaled slowly through his nose and headed toward the stern of the vessel while the harbor began to drift away. The ship cut through the water with a low, shuddering groan, and the first cold drops of rain tapped against the deck.

Of course it was raining.

The sky over Liyue had been clear all afternoon, but the storm had rolled in the moment the ship departed, clouds spreading over the heavens like ink dropped into water. Thunder muttered somewhere far off beyond the mountains. How Pathetic. He almost laughed at himself for noticing.

“You look like a man going to his execution,” One sailor muttered as he hauled a crate past.

Childe flashed him a grin sharp enough to discourage further conversation. “Maybe I am.”

The sailor wisely left him alone. Childe rested both arms on the railing and watched the shoreline recede into darkness. The amber lights of the harbor became tiny stars pinned against the cliffs, and somewhere among them–

He cut the thought off immediately.

He wasn’t going to spend the entire journey thinking about Zhongli.

About the way he spoke. About the calmness in his voice even while admitting things that should have shattered trust beyond repair.

About the fact that Childe still missed him anyway.

The rain strengthened. Cold needles of water stung against his skin and soaked into the collar of his coat, but he remained where he was while waves slapped hard against the hull.

A liar. That was what Zhongli was. A composed, elegant liar.

Every conversation replayed in Childe’s head now with ugly new meaning attached to it. Every half-truth. Every carefully omitted detail. Every measured expression. The worst part was that Zhongli had never even looked guilty, as though betrayal had been inevitable from the very beginning.

He should have expected it, the world practically ran on deception. The Fatui certainly did. Yet somehow betrayal from Zhongli felt different; Childe had trusted him in ways he rarely trusted anyone.

But yesterday. That day he saw the immense amount of regret in the archons eyes. 

The ship lurched violently as it hit rougher waters, dragging him back to the present. Wind screamed through the rigging overhead. Sailcloth snapped sharply enough to sound like cracking bones.

A storm was building fast.

Dark waves rolled beneath the ship, enormous and restless, reflecting flashes of distant lightning. The sea seemed angry tonight, furious in the same quiet way he was. 

He stayed on deck long after the sailors retreated below to escape the weather. Rain soaked him completely. Water dripped from his hair down the side of his neck, icy against his skin. 

It was still better than retreating to his room; down in his cabin there would be silence. And in silence, there would only be thoughts of Zhongli.

He could picture him too easily. The elegant curve of his hands around those stupid cube teacups of his. The low cadence of his voice. Golden eyes steady and ancient and impossible to read.

Childe squeezed his eyes shut.

Why did he still care?

Why did part of him still ache with the absurd hope that Zhongli might have come to the harbor after all?

Zhongli lied to him.

Zhongli manipulated him.

Zhongli stood there with that calm expression while Childe felt like the ground beneath him had vanished.

So why did leaving feel so wrong?

Lightning split across the sky in branching white veins, illuminating the ocean for a single blinding instant. Thunder followed immediately after, deep enough to rattle the ship. The sea churned violently beneath them now. Waves crashed against the hull hard enough to spray freezing water over the rails.

The weather only worsened through the night.

The ship pitched so sharply at times that even seasoned sailors cursed while scrambling across the deck. The sky remained swollen with black clouds, pressing low overhead like something suffocating.

Childe slept very little.

When he did, it came in fractured bursts interrupted by dreams that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

In one dream, he stood once again in the funeral parlor beside Zhongli while incense smoke curled lazily through warm golden light. Zhongli was speaking, calm as always, but no sound came from his lips no matter how hard Childe strained to hear him.

Then Zhongli smiled, dissolving into seawater on the spot. 

Childe woke abruptly to the sound of waves hammering the ship.

For several moments he simply stared at the wooden ceiling of his cabin while rain battered the world outside.

His chest hurt. He hated that.

The journey northward seemed endless. Days blurred together beneath iron-colored skies and violent seas. The farther they sailed from Liyue, the colder the world became.

The ocean changed first.

The water darkened into deep slate-blue, nearly black beneath the clouds. The wind sharpened with a cruel edge that sliced through fabric and skin alike. Ice sometimes formed in delicate patterns along the rails overnight before sailors chipped it away at dawn.

And always, Childe thought too much.

He thought about Zhongli standing beneath lantern light with amber eyes softened by rare amusement.

He thought about quiet conversations over new blends of Liyuen tea.

He thought about how easy it had become to remain at Zhongli’s side.

By the fifth night, the storm finally broke.

The sky opened at sunset into pale silver-blue streaked with cold light, and for the first time in days the sea calmed into long rolling swells. Snow drifted lightly through the air now–soft, dry flakes that melted against Childe’s skin.

The motherland was close.

He stood alone at the bow while the horizon slowly transformed.

White.

Endless white.

Frozen cliffs rose from the sea like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast, dusted with snow that glowed faintly beneath the moonlight. Pines crowded the slopes in dark clusters, and thin trails of smoke curled from distant settlements hidden among the ice.

Home.

A strange heaviness settled in his chest.

He had spent so long away from Snezhnaya that returning felt almost unreal. Liyue’s golden warmth still lingered stubbornly in his memory: the scent of tea, lanterns reflected on water, Zhongli’s voice beside him during long walks through the harbor.

Childe frowned and pushed the thoughts away again.

The ship docked shortly after dawn.

Snow crunched beneath his boots the moment he stepped onto solid ground. The cold here was immediate and absolute, biting into his lungs with every breath.

Sailors shouted while cargo was unloaded around him, their voices muffled beneath thick scarves. Frost clung to ropes and barrels alike. Somewhere nearby, horses snorted clouds of steam into the frigid air.

Childe adjusted his gloves and began the journey inland.

The road to Morepesok wound through forests heavy with snow. Bare branches clawed at the pale sky overhead while icy wind hissed endlessly through the trees.

He traveled mostly in silence. The fatui encouraged him to take the train, yet Childe insisted on walking.

The closer he came to home, the stranger he felt. Part of him had imagined this moment countless times while away on missions.

Instead, exhaustion sat heavily in his bones and beneath it all lingered that same terrible uncertainty.

Did he make the right decision leaving Liyue?

The question followed him like a shadow. By evening the familiar outlines of Morepesok finally emerged through the snowfall. Warm lights glimmered faintly behind frosted windows. Smoke rose from chimneys into the darkening sky.

Home.

Real this time.

Childe slowed unconsciously as he approached the house. Everything looked smaller than he remembered. The fence slightly crooked. Snow piled high beside the steps. The old lantern near the door flickering weakly against the wind. For a moment he simply stood there staring.

Then the front door burst open.

“Ajax!” His mother hurried outside before he could even react, boots crunching through the snow as she crossed the yard. Her face lit with overwhelming relief the instant she reached him, and suddenly she was pulling him into a fierce embrace that smelled faintly of flour and firewood.

“You’re freezing,” she said immediately, hands cupping his face as though checking he was real. “Archons, look at you– why didn’t you send word you were arriving today?”

Childe laughed softly despite himself. The sound coming out rougher than usual.

“Wanted to surprise you.”

“You certainly managed that.” Her eyes searched his face carefully, warmth slowly softening into concern. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.” The lie slipped out automatically. Mothers always knew anyway. But she only touched his cheek once more before stepping aside and ushering him toward the door.

“Come inside quickly. Your father’s chopping wood out back and the others are going to lose their minds when they see you.”

Warmth hit him the moment he entered the house. Not just heat from the fire, though that too wrapped around him immediately after days at sea,  but something deeper. Familiar voices. The smell of stew simmering somewhere nearby. Floorboards creaking exactly the way they always had.

For the first time since leaving Liyue, the tightness in his chest loosened slightly. His mother fussed over him instantly, pulling off his soaked gloves and scolding him for not dressing warmly enough despite the fact he was fully capable of surviving worse.

Childe let her.

Because suddenly he felt exhausted beyond words. And because some hidden, aching part of him needed this more than he realised.

Outside, snow continued falling softly over Morepesok, blanketing the world in white silence.

Far away across dark seas, Liyue remained beneath another sky entirely.

Childe tried not to think about that.

Tried not to wonder whether Zhongli ever thought of him too.

The house felt almost too warm after the endless cold outside. Heat rolled from the iron stove in heavy waves, carrying the rich scent of beef broth, cabbage, potatoes, and black pepper through every corner of the small dining room. Frost still clung stubbornly to the windows, turning the glass opaque white around the edges, but inside everything glowed gold beneath lamplight.

Ajax sat at the wooden table, steam curling from the bowl in front of him.

For the first few minutes, he simply listened. The scrape of spoons against ceramic. His mother moving between the stove and table while muttering that everyone needed to eat before the stew got cold. The crackling fire. The overlapping voices of his siblings speaking over one another loud enough to shake the walls.

It was chaos.

“Ajax, you’re not eating,” his matushka scolded immediately.

“I literally just sat down, mama.” 

“You’re thinner.” She said, provoking him out of nowhere.

“Tonia says that every single time I come home.” Ajax argued, knowing it was true. 

“Because it’s true every single time,” Tonia announced proudly from across the table.

She looked older than the last time he’d seen her. Not by much, but enough for him to notice. Her hair had gotten longer. Her face slightly narrower. There was something steadier in her expression now, less childish softness if you please.

Childe didn’t like realising that he missed too much.

Beside her, Anthon nearly tipped his cup over while reaching for bread.

“Did you fight monsters again?” he asked immediately.

“Anthon,” their mother sighed.

“What? He always fights monsters.” He said, innocent as ever.

Tuecer leaned so far over the table that his chin nearly dipped into his bowl. “Did you bring souvenirs?”

“There it is,” Childe said dryly. “The real reason you’re happy I’m home.”

Tuecer grinned without shame.

Their father laughed quietly from the head of the table, broad shoulders shaking slightly as he tore apart a piece of dark bread.

“Let the poor boy eat before interrogating him.” His voice was soft.

“They’ve been waiting all day,” Matushka said while finally sitting down herself. “Your sister nearly wore a path into the floor pacing.”

“I was not pacing.” Tonia snapped back too quick.

“You absolutely were,” Anthon said.

Tonia kicked him under the table hard enough to make him yelp.

Childe snorted into his stew.

Gods, he missed this.

The stew itself was thick and rich, the broth dark with slow-cooked meat and herbs. Potatoes softened against his tongue, and warmth spread through him with every bite until the ache of cold travel finally began leaving his bones.

His matushka watched him carefully while pretending not to. That worried little crease between her brows never really disappeared anymore whenever he came home. Childe noticed it every time.

He hated that he caused it.

“You were away longer this time,” His father said eventually.

“Mhm.”

“Liyue kept you busy?” An innocent question really. Yet the name alone made something tighten painfully in Childe’s chest.

He kept his expression smooth. “You could say that.”

“What’s it like there?” Tonia asked immediately, eyes brightening. “Your letters always made it sound beautiful.”

“It is beautiful,” he admitted quietly before he could stop himself. Liyue in the morning, drenched in golden sunlight and sea breeze. Liyue at night, glowing beneath lanterns reflected across dark water.

The sound of merchants laughing in crowded streets. Tea steaming in delicate porcelain cups. Incense drifting lazily through warm rooms.

Golden eyes watching him over the rim of a teacup–

Childe shoved another spoonful of stew into his mouth before the thought could settle.

Matushka smiled softly. “You always describe the harbour.”

“Well, it’s hard not to. The entire city practically revolves around it.”

“Did you climb the mountains?” Tuecer asked.

“Some.”

“Did you make more Mr cyclops?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you almost die?” Anthon butted in unannounced.

“Anthon!” mama snapped.

“What? He always almost dies.”

“Hey I’m just a toy salesman!” Childe protested.

Every single person at the table stared at Ajax.

Snow tapped softly against the windows while conversation drifted easily onward. The little ones bombarded him with questions faster than he could answer them.

What kind of food did people eat in Liyue?

Were the Adepti real?

Were there giant sea monsters?

Did everyone really carry umbrellas all the time?

Was it true the harbor market sold jewelry made from glowing stones?

Childe answered what he could between bites, occasionally exaggerating details enough to make Tuecer stare at him in horrified awe.

“No way,” Anthon breathed after one story involving Ruin Guards.

“Yes way.”

“You’re lying.”

“I would never lie to you.”

“You absolutely would,” Tonia said flatly.

He pointed at her with his spoon. “Traitor.”

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

The sound hit him unexpectedly hard.

He had forgotten how much he missed hearing them laugh.

Not the polished laughter of nobles or diplomats or harbingers forcing amusement through political conversations.

Real laughter.

Warm laughter.

Home laughter.

For a while, he almost forgot about Liyue entirely.

Almost.

Then Tonia tilted her head thoughtfully and asked, “What about Zhongli xiansheng?”

The room did not change. Nothing dramatic happened. The fire still crackled softly.Snow still drifted outside. Tuecer was still trying to steal extra bread when mama wasn’t looking.

Yet somehow the entire world seemed to pause anyway.

Childe’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. Tonia noticed immediately.

“You talked about him all the time in your letters,” she continued, oblivious. “The consultant man.”

Consultant. The word felt strange now.

“He sounded important,” Anthon added.

“And rich,” Tuecer said.

Childe nearly laughed at that despite himself. “He wasn’t rich,” Childe muttered.

“Then why did you always pay for everything?” Tonia asked.

Because Zhongli forgot mora like other people forgot handkerchiefs.

Because Childe had secretly found it endearing.

Because he would have paid for a thousand meals if it meant hearing Zhongli continue speaking in that low calm voice for just a little longer. He swallowed hard.

“Ajax?” His matushka asked gently.

He realized too late he hadn’t answered. The warmth of the room suddenly felt suffocating.

“I don’t know,” he said lightly, forcing a grin onto his face. “Guess he just got used to me covering the bill.”

“That’s not fair,” Tuecer declared.

“I know. Tragic, really.”

But the humor sounded wrong even to his own ears.

Tonia studied him quietly, she had always been too observant for her own good.

“You liked him,” she said suddenly.

Childe nearly choked on his stew.

“What?”

“You did,” she insisted. “You talked differently whenever you mentioned him.”

Anthon immediately leaned forward with enormous interest. “Ohhhh—”

“There is no ‘ohhhh,’” Childe cut in immediately.

Tonia ignored him completely. “You wrote about the things he said more than the places you visited.”

“I wrote about lots of people.” Childe tried to reason.

“Not like that.”

Heat climbed up the back of Childe’s neck despite the cold outside.

His father hid a smile behind his cup, while his matushka looked openly delighted now, which was somehow worse.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Childe said firmly.

“So there is something to tell,” Tonia replied.

“I hate all of you.”

Tuecer gasped dramatically. “Ajax hates us.”

“I specifically hate Tonia right now.”

She looked unbearably smug.

But then her expression softened slightly “What’s wrong?”

The question struck far more accurately than she probably intended. Childe looked down at his bowl.

Steam rose quietly from the dark broth. His reflection warped faintly in the liquid: tired blue eyes, pale hair, exhaustion etched deeper into his face than he realised.

What was wrong? Everything. Nothing.

He missed Zhongli so much it physically hurt sometimes.

And simultaneously he wanted to grab him by the shoulders and demand the truth about every single thing Childe still didn’t understand.

He was angry. Still furious, honestly.

But anger became complicated when tangled together with affection.

Because even now, sitting safely at home with his family surrounding him, part of him kept expecting to hear Zhongli’s calm voice from somewhere nearby.

“You two argued?” Matushka guessed softly.

Childe blinked.

“Mama–”

“You get the same expression your father gets after fights.”

His father looked offended. “What expression?”

“The stubborn one.”

“I do not have a stubborn expression.”

The entire table burst into immediate disagreement.

Childe laughed despite himself, but the sound faded quickly. He rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose.

“It’s complicated,” he admitted at last.

That was probably the most truthful thing he could say.

Tonia rested her chin on her hand. “You miss him.”

He looked at her sharply. Children shouldn’t be perceptive enough to do this much damage.

“No,” he answered automatically. The silence afterward stretched just slightly too long.

Tonia’s expression turned sympathetic in a way Childe absolutely did not appreciate.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “You really do.”

“I said no.”

“Ajax,” His father said mildly, “you’re holding your spoon like you want to stab someone.”

Childe looked down.

Right.

Maybe a little tense.

He carefully set the spoon down before it bent. His matushka reached across the table then, laying her hand briefly over his wrist. The gesture was so gentle it nearly undid him.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she said softly.

Relief hit him so suddenly he almost hated himself for it. Because part of him did want to talk.

Not about the Fatui. Never that.

But maybe about Zhongli standing beside him beneath lantern-lit skies. About conversations that lasted hours without feeling long enough. About trust breaking slowly and painfully in ways battle never could.

Yet the words stayed trapped behind his teeth.

How could he explain Zhongli to them?

How could he explain the impossible contradiction of loving someone and resenting them at the same time?

So instead he forced another grin. “He’s just an old acquaintance.”

Tonia stared flatly. “That is absolutely not how you described him in your letters.”

“What letters?” Anthon demanded.

“Tonia keeps all of Ajax’s letters.”

“Tonia,” Childe groaned.

“What? They’re nice.” The tips of her ears turned pink.

That softened something in him immediately.

He remembered writing those letters late at night in Liyue after long missions and longer conversations with Zhongli. Most had been rushed updates about travel and work, but apparently more of Zhongli had slipped into them than Childe realised

Their mother stood to refill everyone’s bowls, effectively rescuing him from further interrogation.

“Enough teasing your brother,” she said, though she was smiling. “He just got home.”

“Thank the Tsaritsa,” Childe muttered.

Tuecer pointed accusingly at him. “That means it’s true.”

“Eat your stew.”

The conversation gradually drifted elsewhere after that. Toward winter markets. Toward neighbors Childe vaguely remembered. Toward whether the fishing routes would freeze over early this year.

But even while listening, part of him remained elsewhere. 

Rain against ship decks.

Golden eyes.

At one point he caught himself wondering what Zhongli was doing right now.

Was he still visiting the same teahouse?

Still speaking in that calm thoughtful voice while pretending nothing ever unsettled him?

Did he notice Childe’s absence at all?

The thought lingered unpleasantly; Childe genuinely did not know the answer.

And maybe that hurt most of all.

“Ajax.” His matushka was watching him again. “You’re drifting.”

“Sorry.”

“Tired?”

Very. But not in a way sleep would fix.

Still, he nodded anyway.

Her expression softened immediately. “You can rest after dinner.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that too much,” Tonia muttered.

Childe looked at her, startled. For a second, she reminded him painfully of Zhongli—not in appearance, obviously, but in the way she observed people so carefully. The way she noticed what went unsaid. It made his chest ache.

Outside, snow continued falling thicker and thicker, burying Morepesok beneath quiet white darkness. Inside, the fire burned steadily warm. His family kept talking around him, their voices overlapping comfortably.

And for tonight, at least, Childe let himself sit there and listen.

After spending a good chunk of his time with his family, Childe politely excused himself and put on his shoes. The man was craving his evening walk, fresh air in general.

He made his way over to the winter market by the harbour.

Warm light spilled from shop windows onto the snowy streets while families wandered between stalls wrapped in thick coats and fur-lined scarves. Fresh bread steamed in baskets beside candied berries and smoked fish, and somewhere down near the harbor a violinist played a lively tune badly enough to make people laugh.

Childe walked through it all at an easy pace, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.

He had eaten far too much. His mother and Tonia insisted on feeding him more and more portions of the stew. 

He wasn’t complaining, in a way it was nice to be chastised for something like this. He rarely had a luxury of such evenings.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he passed under strings of lanterns swaying gently in the cold wind. A few people recognized him despite the lack of Fatui insignias or formal attire.

Childe saw a new stall–if you could even call it a stall– by the water. He had been away for over a year, change was bound to happen but it rarely did in such small towns. Sure the children would grow up, turn into fine men and women. But something like this? It was new. 

His curiosity spiked and his feet moved on their own. 

Soon enough he found himself standing in front of the man that was sitting on a small wooden stool, a few round… things, in hand. 

“Ah, Lord Harbinger.” 

The people of Morepesok knew him by Ajax, even after he climbed the ranks the older people tried to refer to him as Childe but he didn’t let them. His ego was high enough, he didn’t need the authority in his home village. 

The fact that the man recognized him, should’ve been Childe’s first clue. 

“What are those, if I may ask?” 

“Oh these? They’re seelies, I believed you’re to be familiar with such.” The man said lifting up a glass case and displaying the small being infront of him. 

“And what is the purpose of them?”

“To be completely honest, not very much,” The man chuckled before placing the glass case back onto the ground. “They float, make some cute sounds and are quite a companion.

A companion huh? Travelling all alone–excluding his fatui crew– had always been ever so lonely. And now after the recents events with Zhongli…

“How much– for the blue one?” Childe said without thinking too much.

The man picked the glass case up and openeded it, the small seelie flying out with a quiet high pitched sound. “Have it, Lord Harbinger. For serving our beloved country,” 

The seelie flew over to Childe, inspecting him slightly. It did a few circles around his head and settled itself close to the man’s shoulder.

It felt. Lovely. 

“Do you have a name buddy?” He looked at the seelie and it shook its small body. 

“They don’t, it’s deemed unnecessary.” The salesman chirped in. 

“Hmmm, well. You’re practically a floating droplet of water aren’t you– a bubble?” He thought before continuing. Maybe he should’ve sticked with something Snezhnayan, maybe something more familiar. He could’ve called it so many different things. “…Mòmò.”

The seelies did a circle around him, emphasising its emotions to the harbinger.

It seemed to like the name. 

The harbour was unbearably alive. Every street in Liyue seemed drenched in noise and sunlight, overflowing with merchants shouting over one another, sailors hauling crates from incoming ships, children weaving recklessly through crowded market paths with sticky fingers and paper kites trailing behind them. The city glittered beneath the afternoon sun like polished amber.

Normally, Zhongli appreciated such sights. Liyue Harbor was humanity at its finest: resilient, ambitious, vibrant beyond measure. He had watched the nation grow from raw stone and scattered settlements into a thriving jewel of commerce. Even after stepping down as Geo Archon, he still found comfort in simply observing its people.

Today, however, the noise exhausted him.

A week. It had been around a week since Childe boarded the northbound ship back to Snezhnaya after their argument. One week since Childe’s sharp blue eyes had flashed with hurt and fury all at once. One week since he spat, ‘You let me fall in love with someone who didn’t even trust me enough to tell me his real name.’

The words lingered unpleasantly.

Not because they were cruel.

Because they were partially true.

Zhongli walked slowly through the harbor streets with his hands folded behind his back, long coat brushing the stone beneath him. His posture remained composed, elegant as ever, but the exhaustion beneath his calm expression had become increasingly difficult to ignore.

He missed Childe.

The realization sat sourly within him. Not just the man himself, but the noise he brought into Zhongli’s life. The relentless energy. The laughter that filled entire rooms. The shameless interruptions during tea. The dramatic complaints. The reckless affection.

The infuriating persistence.

For someone so young, Childe occupied space with terrifying efficiency, and now the absence of him echoed everywhere.

Zhongli paused near a mineral stall displaying polished ores beneath silk cloths. Chunks of glowing cor lapis caught the sunlight beautifully, golden veins glimmering beneath rough stone. The merchant brightened immediately upon seeing him.

“Ah, Zhongli xiansheng!” he greeted warmly. “Admiring the cor lapis again?”

“It possesses remarkable quality,” Zhongli replied politely.

“You say that every time.”

“It remains true.”

The merchant laughed. Zhongli reached toward one crystal absentmindedly, thumb brushing against the cool surface. Cor lapis, warm gold sealed inside stone.

During the first weeks of him meeting Childe, the harbinger had once grabbed an entire chunk directly off a merchant’s table and declared, with complete seriousness, “This looks edible.”

Zhongli had stared at him. “It is a mineral.”

“So?”

“You cannot eat minerals.”

Childe had grinned lazily. “Weak mindset.”

The memory surfaced so suddenly that Zhongli’s chest tightened painfully.

He withdrew his hand from the crystal. The merchant noticed the shift immediately. “Something wrong?”

“…No,” Zhongli answered after a moment. “Merely distracted.”

“You look tired, xiansheng.” How observant mortals could be sometimes.

Zhongli sighed. “I appreciate the concern.”

The merchant hesitated before speaking carefully. “You and that Snezhnayan friend of yours haven’t been around together lately.”

Of course it had to be mentioned. Liyue Harbour noticed everything.

The merchant scratched his neck awkwardly. “He usually talks too loud near my stall.”

“…Indeed.”

“Kind of strange without him.”

Strange. That was one word for it. Quiet was another. Lonely perhaps fit best.

Zhongli offered a faint nod before continuing onward through the market. The harbour stretched endlessly around him in rivers of colour and movement. Vendors sold silks, tea leaves, jewellery, herbs, antiques, lanterns. The scent of grilled pork and sesame oil drifted through warm afternoon air.

Zhongli would have appreciated the atmosphere any other day.

He wandered without direction for some time, pausing occasionally at stalls more out of habit than genuine interest. Merchants greeted him warmly. Some attempted conversation. Zhongli answered politely where necessary.

But his thoughts remained elsewhere. He imagined endless snowfields and cold northern skies. He imagined Childe in Snezhnaya, there among the Fatui once more, smiling that sharp dangerous smile as though nothing had happened between them.

The thought irritated him irrationally.

Because Zhongli had spent the entire week unable to stop thinking about him. Their argument replayed endlessly in his mind.

Childe rarely lost his temper with him genuinely. Most disagreements dissolved into teasing within minutes. Not this one. This time Childe had looked genuinely wounded.

Zhongli blinked, then stopped walking entirely. Nestled between two fabric stalls sat something entirely unexpected.

Seelies.

Dozens of them floated lazily beneath hanging lanterns and silk canopies, glowing softly in hues of blue, pink, silver, and gold. Their tiny chiming sounds blended together like distant bells. Some drifted in circles around glass ornaments while others rested sleepily near cushioned baskets. A weathered wooden sign hung overhead.

Zhongli stared openly, in all his years across Teyvat, he had never seen anyone selling seelies. The elderly woman behind the stall noticed his attention instantly.

“Well now,” she drawled, “that’s the face of someone seeing something strange.”

“I was unaware seelies could be kept as companions,” Zhongli admitted.

“Oh, they can’t,” the woman snorted.

Zhongli paused. “…Then why are you selling them?”

“Because they keep following me home.” One pale blue seelie bumped directly into another midair.

The vendor pointed. “See? Menaces.”

Zhongli felt the faintest flicker of amusement. “How curious.”

He stepped closer to the stall. Immediately, several seelies floated toward him. A pink one spun around his shoulders enthusiastically while another pale silver creature hovered curiously near his hands. Their soft chiming filled the air around him.

The vendor raised an eyebrow. “Well. They like you.”

“They appear unusually sociable.”

“Seelies are good judges of character.”

One small golden seelie lingered farther back than the others. Unlike the playful chaos surrounding him, this one remained near the rear corner of the stall beneath a lantern shaped like a lotus flower. Its glow was warm and amber-soft, quieter somehow than the others.

Zhongli’s attention settled on it immediately and the golden seelie tilted slightly, slowly drifted toward him. The other seelies moved aside almost instinctively as it approached. Something about it struck him unexpectedly. 

The tiny creature stopped directly before Zhongli’s face and hovered there silently, amber light reflected in his eyes.

The vendor noticed immediately. “Ah,” she murmured knowingly. “You found the difficult one.”

“Difficult?”

“It doesn’t trust people much.” The golden seelie spun once as if offended. “Well, not usually,” the vendor corrected. “Been with me months. Barely goes near anyone.”

Yet now it hovered inches from Zhongli without fear. After a moment, the seelie drifted closer until it rested quietly near his shoulder.

The vendor barked out a laugh. “Oh, that settles it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It picked you.”

Zhongli blinked slowly. “I was under the impression seelies were independent creatures.”

“They are.” The vendor pointed at him. “That’s why it matters.”

The golden seelie circled once around Zhongli before returning to hover calmly beside him, warm light brushed against his coat. Unexpectedly, the ache in Zhongli’s chest eased slightly.

It was only a tiny glowing creature, yet after an entire week spent drowning in silence, the gentle companionship felt startlingly comforting.

“Does it have a name?” Zhongli asked quietly.

“Never gave it one,” The vendor shrugged.“Didn’t feel right. Seemed like it was waiting for someone else to.”

The seelie bumped gently against Zhongli’s arm.

The vendor grinned. “See?”

“You are assigning emotions rather liberally.”

“I’ve worked with seelies for years. I know loneliness when I see it.” The statement lingered strangely.

Zhongli studied the golden creature carefully. Its glow reminded him of sunset reflecting across snow. Warm gold against cold white. For reasons he could not entirely explain, the image immediately dragged his thoughts back toward Childe.

Golden eyes meeting bright blue ones across candlelight.

Gloved hands tangled carelessly in his robes.

Loud laughter echoing through Wangsheng Funeral Parlor at impossible hours.

Zhongli looked away. “I would like this one,” he said.

The vendor nodded as though she expected nothing less. “Thought you might.”

She gathered several small charms into a silk pouch while explaining care instructions.

“They’re emotionally sensitive creatures,” she said. “If you’re upset, they notice.”

“How unfortunate for this one.”

The vendor eventually named a price. Zhongli reached automatically into his sleeves. Then paused.

Silence.

A realisation struck.

He checked another pocket.

Then another.

Nothing.

Not a single mora.

The vendor watched the increasingly tragic search with visible amusement. The golden seelie tilted in confusion.

“…Ah,” Zhongli said carefully.

The vendor crossed her arms. “You forgot your money.”

“It would appear so.”

“You’re serious?”

“I am afraid I am.”

“You tried buying a seelie with no mora?”

“That was not my intention.”

“Then what exactly was your intention?”

Zhongli considered this thoughtfully.

“I was… walking.”

The vendor stared at him for several seconds. Then laughed so hard one of the nearby seelies startled into a lantern.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she wheezed.

Zhongli closed his eyes briefly.

This was humiliating.

In hindsight, relying almost entirely upon Childe to handle sudden expenses had perhaps been unwise. Childe had always found the situation endlessly entertaining. ‘You’re actually hopeless,’ he would laugh while paying restaurant bills Zhongli had forgotten about entirely.

At the time Zhongli merely considered it mildly inefficient.

Now he stood in the middle of Liyue Harbour unable to afford a floating sphere.

“…My apologies,” Zhongli said with dignity despite everything. “I seem to be financially unavailable at present.”

The vendor snorted loudly. “That’s one way to phrase being broke.”

The golden seelie drifted anxiously between them.

Zhongli sighed softly. “I understand entirely if you no longer wish to part with it.”

The vendor studied him carefully. Longer this time. Her amusement faded gradually into something else.

“You live alone?” she asked abruptly.

The question caught Zhongli off guard.“…Yes?”

“No wife?”

“No.”

“Husband then?”

Zhongli hesitated. “…No.”

The vendor hummed thoughtfully.

“No children either?”

“No.”

She leaned back in her chair with the expression of someone uncovering a tragic mystery. “Well no wonder you look miserable.”

Zhongli blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve got the loneliest face I’ve ever seen.”

The statement landed with startling force. Around them, Liyue Harbour continued bustling with life entirely unaware that an old woman had just pierced through centuries of practiced composure with horrifying accuracy.

The vendor clicked her tongue sympathetically. “At your age too. Tragic.”

“…My age?”

“Yes, your age.” She gestured vaguely at him. “Tall, handsome, fancy clothes, walking around looking like your husband died in a war.”

Zhongli stared at her, the golden seelie floated quietly against his shoulder.

“I assure you,” Zhongli began carefully, “the situation is not quite so dramatic.”

“Mmhm.”

“He merely returned home.”

“After a fight.”

Zhongli didn’t say a word.

The vendor pointed triumphantly. “Knew it, you look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

Zhongli glanced toward the harbour instinctively. Ships drifted across glittering waters beneath the descending sun. Far beyond that horizon waited Snezhnaya.

And Childe.

The vendor sighed dramatically.“Take the seelie.”

Zhongli looked up immediately. “I could not possibly accept such generosity.”

“Please do. You clearly need emotional support.”

“I assure you I am functioning adequately.”

“You wandered into a market and tried to buy companionship with imaginary money.”The golden seelie chimed approvingly.

The vendor pointed at it. “See? Even it agrees.”

Zhongli almost argued further, then the seelie pressed softly against his shoulder. Warm golden light brushed across his neck and something ancient inside him simply… weakened.

“…You have my sincere gratitude,” he said quietly.

The vendor waved dismissively. “Just take care of it.”

“I shall.”

“And maybe go apologise to your husband.”Zhongli nearly choked.

“He is not–”

“Oh please.”

Zhongli stopped speaking.

Because honestly?

Trying to explain whatever existed between himself and Childe to strangers sounded exhausting.

The vendor smirked knowingly. “Thought so.”

Silence settled briefly between them, the market noise seemed softer somehow now.

The vendor eventually spoke again, gentler this time. “You miss him badly.”

Not a question, just a clear fact. Zhongli lowered his gaze, the golden seelie hovered near his hand patiently.

“…Yes,” he admitted at last, the word coming out quieter than expected.

The vendor nodded as though she understood entirely. “Then tell him.”

“It is… complicated.”

“People always say that when they’re scared.” Perhaps she was correct.

“You know,” the vendor said thoughtfully, “that boy must’ve cared about you a lot.”

Zhongli looked up.

“He talked about you whenever he came through the harbor.”

Zhongli blinked in surprise. “You knew him?”

“Hard to forget a loud Snezhnayan menace waving mora around.”

The vendor grinned faintly. “Always bought shiny things while talking about some handsome consultant.”

Warmth and grief tangled painfully in Zhongli’s chest.

“He complained constantly too,” she continued. “‘Zhongli never dresses warmly enough,’ ‘Zhongli forgets to eat,’ ‘Zhongli pretends he doesn’t like being taken care of.’”

The golden seelie floated closer to Zhongli’s face.

The vendor tilted her head. “Sounds like love to me.”

Zhongli looked away toward the sea again, the sun had begun setting, painting the harbor in molten gold and crimson.

He missed him.

Archons above, he missed him terribly.

The laughter.

The way Childe always reached for his hand unconsciously.

Even the recklessness.

Especially the recklessness.

The vendor watched him quietly for a moment before smiling softly. “Go home, old man.”

Zhongli almost laughed despite himself “You are remarkably blunt.”

“Someone has to be.” The golden seelie spun lazily around Zhongli’s shoulders as he finally turned to leave the stall.

“Thank you,” he said once more.

The vendor waved him off. “Take care of that lonely heart of yours.”

Zhongli walked slowly through the harbor streets again. This time, however, he was no longer alone– the little golden seelie floated faithfully beside him, casting warm amber light across the stone paths as evening settled over Liyue.

Lanterns gradually illuminated across the harbour, glowing gold against deepening blue skies. Ships bobbed gently near the docks while distant laughter carried through evening air.

Eventually, Zhongli stopped near the waterfront, the sea stretching endlessly before him, the northern winds drifted faintly across the waves.

Snezhnaya waited somewhere beyond that horizon.

The golden seelie hovered quietly near his shoulder while Zhongli regarded it silently for a long while.

Then, softly, he spoke. “…You require a name.”

The seelie chimed once, amber light reflected in Zhongli’s eyes.

Slowly, bitterly, Zhongli closed his eyes.

He remembered Childe laughing beneath falling ginkgo leaves, remembered blue eyes brighter than winter skies, remembered hearing soft Snezhnayan words murmured half-asleep against his shoulder.

One word in particular.

Solntse.

The nickname Childe used carelessly sometimes when he thought Zhongli wasn’t  listening.

Zhongli opened his eyes again, the ache in his chest returned immediately.

“…Solntse,” he said quietly.

The golden seelie brightened at once.

Of course it did.

Zhongli smiled faintly despite the bitterness curling beneath the expression.

“Yes,” he murmured softly. “I suppose that suits you.”

The seelie drifted closer until it rested gently against his shoulder, warm light spilled across Zhongli’s face as evening settled fully over Liyue Harbour.

For the first time in an entire week, the silence no longer felt quite so unbearable.