Zhongli realizes then, that he's in love.
--
One, two, three, goes the beat, the lifeblood of the room.
Zhongli isn't a musician but he finds himself lost in the thrum of it all. The room is warm and the songs are loud. Everything is punctuated by sanguine laughter that permeates the air.
One, two, three, he counts, his foot tapping alongside the music. The harmonies tug at him, pulling him into the fray, and he finds that he wants to move and lose himself in revelry.
Odd. Very, very odd. He's old and a little bit wise, but when it comes to the wiles of mortal nature, he is still learning. But Zhongli finds that he doesn't dislike the way that the party seems to settle in his gut.
One, two, three, and Xiangling looks at him with a mischievous grin spread wide across her lips. She flits across the space with a tray in her hand, tossing moon cakes to anyone who's willing to try her daring concoctions.
Dragons are solitary creatures by nature and while Zhongli hoards friendships because they hold value, he wonders exactly when they began to hold feelings instead. He longs to spend time with those he's pulled close, not because they offer things in return but because he genuinely enjoys their company.
"Hey, Xiansheng," calls a voice that's liquid and teasing.
One, two, three, counts Zhongli as he tries to ground himself in the refrain. The instruments strike their notes true, clearly ringing through the air.
And yet, all Zhongli seems to hear is the curling lilt of that beloved voice.
"Childe," murmurs Zhongli, quiet and content.
Zhongli never thought himself capable of such ease. He wakes in the morning, enjoys a cup of tea, and the next thing upon his mind is the inevitable lunch that he shares with Childe every day. He thought he'd messed it up, a costly mistake in Zhongli's misunderstanding of what could be viewed as a betrayal.
Childe was hurt by the carefully crafted part that he played in Zhongli's long-con. Zhongli was surprised that he cared much to begin with.
With avoidance came distraught. For the first time in Zhongli's seemingly forever-long life, he felt truly at a loss. He wasn't sure why, still isn't sure—but whatever it was, was soothed the moment that Childe came back to him. One afternoon, Childe sat in his chair at Wanmin Restaurant, greeted Zhongli with that rapscallion smile, and they knocked together their teacups.
And, while Childe struggled with his chopsticks, Zhongli felt peace once again.
A curious thing that plagues him still. Zhongli thought he'd enjoy retirement. He finds that he enjoys retirement more with Childe by his side. Zhongli chalks it up to the way that his inner dragon just claims and craves.
"Nice party," says Childe.
They stand in the higher part of Liyue Harbor overlooking the port from the walkways. Childe leans back against the railing, elbows bent and his face shadowed by the wide eaves. Lanterns burn in the deep night, casting an orange glow, and Zhongli finds that he can't look anywhere else.
Childe is pleasing in every way; from the freckles that splatter his cheeks to his fighting drive, Zhongli finds himself drawn to his energy. A good person to watch, he thought in the beginning. A good person to learn from.
What Zhongli learned instead is that people wear masks and Childe is a man that wears more than most.
"A festive occasion," replies Zhongli. He pauses, hesitant, and then: "I wasn't aware that you were back."
"Ah, you know how debt collection goes."
Zhongli does. Sometimes Childe is gone for an hour at most, sometimes it's weeks. Either way, he shows back up bloody and bruised, eyes alight with the lust from battle.
Childe's eyes are a thick ocean blue, deep and unwieldy. But those fathomless depths always seem dead to the world unless he's coming down from the high of a fight. Zhongli wonders if there is anything else that can spark such emotion, anything else that can shake Childe to his core.
One, two, three, and a new song starts with the same time signature but a far slower tempo. The moment stretches between them, not so much awkward as it is stifling.
There are so many things to be said, so much that's laid thick between them. Zhongli has no idea where to even start.
"Zhongli." Childe's voice is quiet as he says his name and not the title, and Zhongli finds himself pulled right in. "Would you like to dance?"
Dragons do not dance but, perhaps, Zhongli does. So, Zhongli says, "Yes."
One, two, three, and it feels utterly natural. Zhongli's hands find Childe's waist as he pulls him a little bit too close.
Childe follows. Childe invades his space and happily so. One hand rests against Zhongli's broad shoulder and the other clings tightly to his fingers. They listen to the muted music as the rest of the world seems to fade away.
"Childe," starts Zhongli, but then he tapers off. His thoughts are a jumble.
"Ajax," says Childe. "In moments like this, you can call me Ajax."
A gift, thinks Zhongli. Childe has just gifted him such a precious thing and the truth of his real name seems to permeate whatever is left of Zhongli's stone-hardened resolve.
His fingers itch. His heart burns. There's a deep-seated yearning that tugs at his entire being and it's in that moment that Zhongli realizes.
One, two, three, and he knows he's in love.
Zhongli's heart beats in time as they sway. Childe's fingers are warm around his. Their foreheads knock together as they lean into each other's space, words unneeded. Zhongli just soaks up Childe's closeness as his eyes slip closed.
One, two, three.
Zhongli doesn't want this to end. He lifts a hand and thumbs over Childe's soft lips. Childe grabs hold of him, fingers curled around Zhongli's wrist. He tugs it to his mouth and presses a lingering kiss against Zhongli's knuckles.
One, two, three. One, two, three...
The kiss is nice.
The next one on his lips is better.