Etched In Stone

Walking on Air

Zhongli finds himself woefully distracted.

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Zhongli is prone to having his head in the clouds, an old habit that dies hard.

There are too many thoughts, too many considerations, needles and naggings that pull at his brain. He's always been a thinker, eons spent sitting around and observing others. Even in the throes of firsthand experience, that is all that he does.

Mortals are fascinating in such a way that he is still trying to wrap his mind around them. A day in their shoes turned into weeks, spawning a book about his supposed adventures. And now, here he is in his old age with the singular goal of retiring like one.

The plan was foolproof. He's tired, creaking around the edges, worn down and weathered until he's more like a sand-polished tiger's eye than a roughly hewn mountain. The Tsaritsa was surprisingly easy to bargain with. Zhongli lived eons without his Gnosis, he can live eons more.

Tartaglia was a wild card that Zhongli did not expect to be dealt.

And Childe is an unexpected complication that Zhongli is still trying to work his way around.

"A test?" penned the Tsaritsa in response to his request. "Humans are unpredictable in nature and so that is exactly what I'll send you. Tartaglia is my youngest, keenest, and most eager to please but he designs the sort of chaos that is more headache than not. If you don't mind cleaning up a mess afterward..."

Zhongli agreed and is now paying the price.

They were—are? (it's unclear, and really, Zhongli thinks that Childe is overreacting)— friends, but the sting of betrayal is a bitter thing. Childe is still stationed in Liyue until further notice but hedges around wherever Zhongli lurks. Which is fine, Zhongli tells himself. The man is mortal, beholden to his whims and while they held companionship, Zhongli is not entitled to Childe's presence.

Even if he wants it, needs it; even if all it takes is just Childe sitting by him to ease the restlessness that burns through him.

Zhongli supposes this is another lesson he has had to learn. Longing. He did not expect to miss Childe so viscerally. His chest hurts in his absence and the boy isn't even that far. He's right there, under his nose, only fingertips away at times and yet, it feels like there's an ocean that separates them.

Losing Guizhong was not like this. That was pain, yes, a dark and curdling thing, and Zhongli will never forget the rage that burned through him in the aftermath of her death, but—

Zhongli moved on. And it might have taken thousands of years but he thinks he's found his purpose in a red-haired man with a wide, rapscallion smile, terrible jokes, and a penchant for pretending to like tea.

He sighs, standing at the edge of the port in Liyue Harbor, watching Childe from afar. Just out of his line of sight. The avoidance stings, digging in deeper than Zhongli thought possible, but he's waited six thousand years for love, he can wait a few months for Childe to pull his head out of his ass.

Impetuous and stubborn. But handsome as he smiles at a child, reaching out to ruffle their hair. Childe laughs and oh, how Zhongli's missed that sound.

Zhongli rarely steps onto the docks themselves, disliking the way that they sever his connection to the land. He prefers his boots to remain firmly on the earth, but there are parts of the Harbor where it is unavoidable. He carefully picks his way across the wooden planks, moving swiftly, trying to ignore the discomfort that rises his throat like bile.

But he can't stop looking. It's the closest he's been to Childe in weeks. Zhongli takes in those soft cheeks and the sharp jut of his jawline, his heart skipping a beat as it yearns. The nice curve of his handsome backside.

It is a strange feeling, love. Feels a lot like annoyance and exasperation at times but it makes Zhongli feel alive in a way he never thought possible.

He's so distracted by his thoughts and the sight of Childe's behind that Zhongli walks right off the pier.

The water is cold, shocking the air from his lungs. He sinks like a rock, struggling back to the surface because while he knows how swimming has never been his strong suit. When Zhongli breaks the surface, he gasps, kicking frantically to keep his head above.

"Mr. Zhongli?"

Zhongli manages to climb back onto the pier without rising too much attention. He's waterlogged, though, drenched and dripping as he straightens his lapels the best he can. "Miss Ekaterina," he says politely, "a pleasure to see you here."

Ekaterina's expression is amused, eyebrows drawn high over her mask, her mouth slightly twisted. She makes no effort to help him.

Zhongli pulls off a glove, shaking it out, water dumping to the ground in a wet splat. "I assume that you saw that."

"Saw what, Sir?"

A kindness that she gives him. Zhongli snorts softly, wringing out his other glove. "I would appreciate your discretion."

Her expression softens and she finally reaches out, smoothing a small hand over the broad expanse of Zhongli's shoulder. "You should get changed," she fusses. "We wouldn't want you catching a cold." She knows who he is, he can tell by the way she's always watched him like a hawk, jotting down her little notes in that book of hers. Ekaterina knows full well that he won't fall ill from something as silly as tripping into the ocean.

Ekaterina clicks her tongue softly. "Come on, let's get you some tea at the bank, hm?"

He probably shouldn't. But he does.