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So much for the light show
Pissing on while pissing off
Tartaglia was about four shots of firewater past what was reasonable, but nothing about the past month had been "reasonable" either. He needed to sort through the muddied mess of his emotions, and firewater did a great job of keeping him company and dulling the pain. Leaning against the railing of his apartment's balcony, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from an inner pocket of his jacket. Balancing the cigarette on his lips, he lit a match and sucked in the noxious smoke.
His father had always smoked when he was young. He would always say, "Ajax, never make the same mistake I did and start smoking. It's bad for you. It is dangerous. Can you promise me that, Ajax?"
After the abyss, his habit of stealing smokes was the least of his father's worries.
Sucking in a smokescreen
Selling of a loose knit dream
Tartaglia blew out a cloud of smoke and held the cigarette in his fingers as he looked out across Liyue Harbor. A month ago, it would have been a pleasant view that made him feel content. It wasn't the quiet town of his home, but over time he had embraced Liyue as a sanctuary of his own. He could walk the streets, browsing the market stalls with a certain funeral parlor consultant and smile. He could tuck away the brutal efficiency of "Tartaglia" and just be "Childe" the boyishly charming diplomat. He smiled more, laughed easier, and felt more welcomed than he ever had after the abyss.
Folding up the skyline
What a sham.
Just how much of everything was a lie? Like yeah, sure, Tartaglia wasn't in Liyue for the best of reasons. But The Tsaritsa asked this of him, and he had to obey.
Nevermind the fact that he had been in Liyue for nearly two years without finding hide nor hair of Rex Lapis.
Well, that would be a lie. He had seen Rex Lapis, interacted with him, and even offered to spar with him.
Rex Lapis tucked away into a human skin with long dark hair and beautiful eyes the color of spiced honey.
Agreeing on a steep decline
Those same eyes that had lost their warmth when after Signora had left, over tea they agreed to take a step back from each other. Tartaglia was too angry, too hurt, to even look at Zhongli without a small voice in the back of his mind pushing him to violence.
Can't control this airplane
Being caught is just the same
So, they would still occasionally have dinner together at Wanmin, or share drinks at Third Round Knockout, but things were different. Gone was the easy camaraderie, the smiles, the fondness. No sidelong glances that lasted a second too long to be polite. No more tipsy conversations that edged a bit too close to outright flirting. No longer would Zhongli offer to help Childe correct his hold on his chopsticks. Instead, Childe just started using a fork.
The first time he had asked Xiangling for the utensil, she had looked almost distraught. She was opening her mouth to say something when her eyes slid past Childe. She closed her mouth and turned back to the kitchen without saying a word.
She brought out a clean fork for him and left before he could even thank her.
Headed for a lowlife
It became easier to find reasons to skip meals together. The bank needed someone in charge to finish paperwork. The traveler needed help with commissions. A debt needed to be collected.
Excuses, excuses, excuses.
The truth was, Tartaglia was seeking out reasons to avoid the tense atmosphere of dinners with Zhongli. And if he couldn't find one, he would leave the harbor to thin out any monsters that had gotten close to the harbor.
And if he threw himself into more fights by himself than he had reason to, if he lost himself in the haze of adrenaline, if he let himself get too close to danger just to feel only the thrill and the pain, well.
No one had to know but him.
Little lover's so polite
The next time Zhongli had asked him to a meal was after Tartaglia had "persuaded" some Treasure Hoarders to pay their debts. His knuckles were raw and bleeding and bandanged beneath his gloves. The dressing made his glove fit strange. Zhongli must have noticed the strange fit, or maybe he saw the grimace as Childe had reached with his right hand, or maybe he had observed how Childe favored his left afterwards.
Waking up the core needs
With smelling salts and faulty means
After the meal, he had insisted that he inspect Childe's hand and treat it himself. And wisely, Zhongli said nothing upon seeing the state of Childe's hand.
Good, because Childe wouldn't have told him anything, anyway.
Did the bones collide
Who let the bones collide
Why did the bones collide
Childe stamped out the embers of the cigarette into the too-full ashtray. He looked at the ashes with distaste. He supposed that in the last month he had smoked an awful lot. He'd even had to go to one of the merchants near the docks and buy some cigarettes from a traveling merchant.
Smoke-stained fingers ran through his messy hair as he flopped onto a chair. The cool night air blew past him and he tipped his face up and closed his eyes. The breeze felt wonderful on his flushed skin. But the wind could not soothe the frenzied pace of his thoughts.
Childe felt like a fool. He let himself grow comfortable in Liyue. He stopped treating everything as a job, and instead fooled himself into thinking this was something he could have. That he, as damaged as he was, could fit into a domestic life in the bustling city. Just a diplomat that slowly settled into place, like he belonged there, always seen accompanying the respected consultant around. A quiet life. A happy life. A home. A sense of belonging. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
A familiar sense of self-hate wormed into his chest, feeling like bile. He let himself get attached. He knew better. He knew better than to let himself feel anything. But here he was, an emotional drunk mumbling to himself.
"It's always the same way for me
Ending in the same way"
It had been so easy to slip off the mask. Small smiles and soft chuckles disarmed him. The way Zhongli could talk for hours about anything and everything and make it sound fascinating. He stopped listening to the tales of Rex Lapis as a Harbinger, stopped trying to find any weakness or quirk about the Archon. He ended up listening like an eager child, fascinated by tall tales of adventures.
Damn it. The last time he had felt like that had been the day before he set off on his own adventure with nothing more than a short sword and a bag of bread.
That innocent boy had died that day.
Tartaglia wished he had stayed dead. He was far too old to be wide-eyed and curious like a child again. Ajax died in the abyss. Because whatever crawled out of that accursed place was no eager bright eyed adventurer.
What stumbled out was a child soldier with a dull-eyed gaze and hands that had practiced unspeakable atrocities.
So why did Zhongli's storytelling fill him with a child-like sense of wonder?
So much for the showdown
Keeping up while keeping off
Tartaglia should have demanded a fight. Even if Zhongli no longer had a Gnosis, a fight was easy. Simple. No room for unnecessary thoughts or feelings or anything. Just the raw adrenaline high, the joy of calculated movements, the bright pain of skin splitting beneath a blade.
Choking on the cold feet
Rolling up the plastic sleeves
Zhongli declined his offer to spar once. But Tartaglia never asked again. Not because he was afraid of losing, no, he took joy in his losses if only to find and push his limits.
It wasn't even fear of hurting Zhongli, assuming the man actually let him get a hit in.
No, it was fear that whatever this polite distant comraderie would shatter into thousands of pieces. Because at the end of the day, Zhongli was strong.
And Tartaglia was weak.
Can't control the slow ride
Before this had all been set into motion, only shortly after the Rite of Descension, the traveler had asked his help for some commissions nearby. Tartaglia was eager to join, to spill blood and to see just how strong this golden eyed traveler was. He did not expect Zhongli to join them.
Now, Childe knew that Zhongli had a vision. So obviously he had to know how to fight.
Nothing could have prepared him to see Zhongli in a battle. He weilded a polearm with ease, utilizing it's large reach to keep the hilichurls at bay, and to avoid getting blood on his clothes.
Childe had seen how he thrust his spear into a hilichurls stomach, pinning it to the ground. Had seen a mitachurl lumbering towards the man. A man without a hand on his weapon.
Childe had been a few steps towards them before he even realized he had moved. He was not about to witness his contact be crushed like this. Bow drawn, Childe's vision brightened at his hip as hydro energy coalesced into an arrow. Just as he had been about to release it, Zhongli had smiled.
And hooked his foot around the polearm sticking out of the ground and kicked it to send it spinning into the mitachurl. Caught the weapon mid air and finished with a thrust that saw the blade straight through the torso of the monster as it collapsed.
And oh. Oh.
That was when Tartaglia knew he was in trouble. His chest felt funny, like his heart had just tried to do acrobatics around his chest cavity.
Zhongli had dismissed his spear, and noticed Childe staring. The satisfied smile that broke across the usually reserved man's face had been brilliant. Angelic.
It turned Childe into a holy man. Whatever religion he had to follow, whatever rituals he had to partake in, Childe would do so happily just to see that smile again.
And oh he was in so much trouble. Zhongli was walking towards him with confident strides. Head tilted, he asked "Master Childe, are you alright?"
Childe mouth was suddenly dry and he swallowed thickly. "You just kicked your spear like it was nothing."
Zhongli blinked before demuring "Ah, I must admit I didn't think that would work. I wish I could do what you have mastered and form my own weapons whenever I need. A claymore would have made even quicker work of the fight."
Little lover's so polite
Tartaglia had seen how he hadn't hesitated at all in the fight. He knew what he was doing. The traveler interrupted whatever he had been about to say, thanking them for the help and offering to treat them to lunch.
Turning off the low light
Tell me did the bones collide
The bones collide
The bones collide
That night Childe could not sleep. Even after writing a letter to his younger sister and drinking some tea, he laid wide awake in the dark. Watching the memory of Zhongli dancing across the backs of his eyelids. Mesmerized by the fluid movements, the sheer strength.
And struck dumb by the smile he had sent his way.
The next day, Zhongli had shown up at the Northland Bank around midday, even though they had no plans for the day. Surprised, Childe had let him into his office, eyeing the hand wrapped cloth package Zhongli carried.
"I know we did not make plans for a meal today, but Director Hu had given me the day off and I wanted to thank you for the meals you treat me to." Zhongli said as he untied the knot. He pulled out two covered bowls and set them on the coffee table. "So I made some slow cooked bamboo shoot soup to show my appreciation." Zhongli smiled.
Little lover's so polite
Childe floundered as Zhongli set out some chopsticks and pulled out a canteen of hot tea.
"Wow Mister Zhongli! I don't know what to say. You really didn't need to go out of your way to bring lunch." Childe knelt across from Zhongli at the table.
So polite
"Perhaps not, but I wanted to." smiled Zhongli.
So polite
That had been the best meal he had ever eaten, and his most cherished memory. A quiet afternoon, spent eating homemade food that warmed him and made his chest feel tight.
Turning off the low light
Tartaglia shook his head at the memory. He was angry, damn it, he didn't need to think about how damn fond Zhongli had looked as he struggled with his chopsticks. Didn't need to remember the small smile that graced Zhongli's lips when he had praised his cooking.
Most certainly did not need to remember how that afternoon had made him feel.
It's always the same way for me
Blue turns soft with time
Tartaglia wanted to hate Zhongli. He did. Zhongli had let him have the dream of domesticity, of a life spent happy and content. Zhongli had offered him something soft and precious.
Broke remains, an everyday disguise
Ending in the same way, the same way
Only to pull it out from between his fingers.
Zhongli easily fell back into the distant politeness he held when they first met. Like nothing had ever changed between them.
Tell me did the bones collide
The bones collide
The bones collide
Nothing could have hurt Childe more. Every polite bow of the head, every stilted conversation, every aborted lecture was as bad as a physical blow.
But the worst part? The absolute worst part of all of this entire situation?
Little lover's so polite
This would be an easy break if Childe could hate him. Villainize him.
So polite
But Zhongli was nothing short of gentlemanly. Kind. Courteous.
Childe roughly swung open the door to his apartment before slamming it closed. He stalked through the space in the dark, before flopping still clothed into his bed. He huffed a bitter laugh before he let himself drift to sleep.
"So polite."