Rex Lapis visits you again today.
No, that's not quite right; he hasn't been Rex Lapis in years. He walks amongst mortals now, has taken on the guise of a human man. He goes by the name Zhongli now. Though you suppose, that even if he were to change his face, or even remake his entire existence, you would still be able to pick him out from a crowd of thousands; he's always been a dominating presence. Tall, lithe, dangerously intent, with those piercing amber eyes.
"Hello, [ NAME ]." He says as always. He carries a bouquet of flowers in his arms, a frothy bouquet of blue and white flowers tied neatly together in brown string. You can feel the softness of the petals against the tips of your fingers in your imagination. You imagine Zhongli, in his room with only a candle for light, his dark head bent over the flowers as he struggles to arrange them into something more presentable. You'd tried to teach him once, a very long time ago, but his hands had been much too large and much too clumsy for one who wielded weapons with such skill. "May I come in?"
And, as always, he waits respectfully, inclining his head for the span of several heartbeats, before he opens the gates and walks through the wide expanse of lawn, broken up by ancient trees, their branches heavy with white and pink blossoms. The air is thick with the fragrance of a million flowers, the grass bright green and vibrant underfoot. It's almost as if spring exists eternally in this place. Everything seems to thrive here, as if your hands are still carefully nourishing the flowers and plants under your care.
You know his usual routine by now.
First, a white cloth appears, drawn from within the inner pocket of Zhongli's coat; he cleans and polishes the marble headstone, carefully, reverently. Once every crevice has been cleaned to his satisfaction, he moves on to the statue, modelled in your likeness. Your features have been frozen in time, made immortal in stone, though the statue does a poor job at conveying the soft kindness that had glowed in your eyes and the bright warmth of your smile, which had been able to light up a room and elicit faint smiles from Rex Lapis, even at his moodiest. Zhongli's gaze is heavy as he rests a gloved hand upon the smooth stone of the statue's face, and his bright eyes are suddenly darker than you ever remember.
Then, with a sigh, the cloth is tucked away, and a graceless hand dropping back down to his side; Zhongli steps back and places the bouquet – baby's breath and forget-me-nots – by the marble headstone. Here lies the God of Flowers. Gone, but not forgotten. Gracefully, Zhongli arranges himself and sits cross-legged on the ground.
Sometimes, he'll talk to fill the silence, speaking quietly of nothing and everything. He'll tell you about his day, a part of a story he's currently reading, or he'll reminisce about memories only both of you are privy to. Sometimes, he won't speak. He'll sit with you in a companionable silence, drowning in your presence, still lingering in the flowers and leaves.
Everyone in Liyue knows the myths; how the God of Flowers had fallen in battle, and their body had been used to nourish the land. How the crops and plants had flourished and bloomed, the soils rich and fertile, as though their very love for the country had been immortalized, lingering to this very day. More stories whisper of Rex Lapis' wrath; how he had turned into a dragon and unleashed fire and hell upon the ones who had struck the God of Flowers down, his rage driving him onwards like a cornered beast.
Fewer people in Liyue know of how the God of Flowers had approached Rex Lapis, a genuine friendship blooming from the contract. Stay with me until the end, the God of Flowers had said, and in return, I will lend you my power when you have need of it. And Rex Lapis had agreed. How, as the days went on, both had seen each other as friends, or maybe even something more, brought together by two pinkies linked together, a contract made one bright and perfectly normal afternoon.
No one in Liyue knows that the God of Flower's death had been the first, and the last time that Rex Lapis had ever broken a contract. How he hadn't been with the God of Flowers as they had drawn their last breath, how that bitter regret coats his tongue even now, and drives him to visit the place you rest every day to atone for his failures.
And you sit with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, relishing in his presence.
"I apologise." Zhongli says, an undercurrent of broken glass lurking beneath the surface of his words. "I wasn't there with you then."
"You have nothing to apologise for."
"You must have been lonely."
Zhongli draws in a quiet, shaking inhale. The idea of Zhongli crying is ludicrous. Much like his element of earth, he's always been so strong, so sure of everything. Is he thinking of you, as you are of him? You can almost feel the phantom touch of his hand entwined in yours, as the two of you had walked through your gardens together. You can almost smell the scents of lotus and sandalwood which had clung to his skin.
"No. It was a good life. And I loved being your friend." You say, soft as a whisper, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."
It's a kiss of acceptance, for him as well as yourself. It's forgiveness and absolution for the sins weighing heavy upon Zhongli's shoulders.
Zhongli presses a tentative hand to his own cheek, to the spot you had kissed just moments before, and it's on a needle of pain that he breathes out your name.
