Etched In Stone

Nonsense and Nonsensibility

After sharing a smooch and a dance that one night under the lanterns, Zhongli and Childe finally take their relationship to the next level: Holding hands.

CW: Smut

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Zhongli has never been so fucking awkward in his entire life.

It isn't the awkwardness itself—Archons know that he's a master at being entirely socially inept. But this... this... He is entirely unequipped; he doesn't know where to begin; he might've made the biggest mistake of his life.

Zhongli pines. His heart yearns for a man with curling, auburn hair, and freckle-dusted cheeks. Every day that passes digs a little bit deeper into his gut, and it's because he's realized—

One, two, three, went the beat and he realized that he was in love.

Hu tao is unimpressed. Hu tao looks at him with scorn, waving her hand around in supreme annoyance. "Why don't you just... I don't know—talk to him?"

"I—" Zhongli doesn't know where he would even begin. He rubs his face and whines. He doesn't have the fortitude to deal with his boss.

He and Childe are not avoiding each other, in fact, they spend more time side-by-side now than ever before. But that is it. They shared a dance and a kiss, and Zhongli's stony heart practically melted into smelted ore. Nothing else has changed.

It is supposed to, isn't it? His brow furrows as he thinks, which only leads to a headache. Zhongli is new to the wonders of the heart and he is entirely out of his depth. His only references are books and, usually, when someone kisses the object of their affection, sparks fly and everything after comes with ease.

The books lied.

Hu Tao watches him for a few seconds more and then throws her head back dramatically, groans loudly, and leaves the room without another word. Zhongli is left in the quiet parlor of the funeral home, his only company, the freshly deceased.

He turns to a coffin. "Surely you don't have any advice?"

Predictably, the coffin doesn't answer.

#

They have not talked about the kiss. Or the dance. Or that entire night, spent together as they swayed to soft music underneath the orange glow of lantern lights. How they walked home holding hands, chatting quietly as they roamed the streets. The way that Childe smiled at him, soft and genuine as Zhongli bade him goodnight.

Today, they sit at Wanmin Restaurant in the mid-afternoon, as they always do. Childe laughs at something that Zhongli says, even though it likely isn't even funny. He fumbles with his chopsticks and swoons the moment he tastes Xiangling's cooking.

Zhongli watches him, chin resting in his hand. Stares at the way that Childe's brow crinkles slightly and how his freckles seem just a little bit darker. That little dimple that dots his right cheek, cutting into his face when Childe grins.

This is good. Quiet, enjoyable, full of warmth.

It isn't enough. Not when Zhongli has had a taste of more. Not with the knowledge that Childe kissed him first, building a bridge right over the gap Zhongli thought impossible to cross. The soft press of Childe's mouth against his, too chaste for what he really wants.

But, at the time, it was perfect.

Zhongli shifts, pressing his fingers against his mouth, wondering.

"Mr. Zhongli?"

Zhongli frowns. That name. The title. Doesn't matter if it's the more traditional Xiansheng, or that teasing and casual Mister, they both sour his gut, sinkinglike heavy lead. Zhongli wonders if Childe regrets the kiss.