Etched In Stone

Fervid

At the top of Mt. Tienheng, Zhongli realizes that it isn't just love.

--

It is a fine day at the top of Mt. Tianheng.

Zhongli sits atop a blanket that has been laid out with care. Childe is warm next to him, cutting through the slight, soft chill of the breeze. This has always been a place of quiet contemplation for him, somewhere nice to do his deeper thinking.

Things have shifted. Zhongli finds himself thinking less and less about important matters, and more and more about what he wants. Perhaps that is the answer to the mortal equation of what makes them tick? He is still looking for the answer, despite thinking he might not be far.

"Isn't there a story about this place?" Childe's voice cuts through his thoughts like a beacon, and Zhongli cannot help how he's instinctually pulled towards him.

Like a magnet, he thinks. Childe has become like the molten core of the earth, grounding in a way that Zhongli finds hard to properly express.

But he loves it— and he loves this man that sits beside him. Childe has wormed his way deep into his heart, something that took a while for Zhongli to realize. But then, a dance, a kiss, the shared closeness of their spaces—

One, two, three, he thinks. That's when I knew it was love.

"Skybracer," says Zhongli finally, tipping his head slightly to the side with a soft little sigh. Childe pours him fresh tea, topping his cup off. "This mountain nearly came to ruin at the behest of myself and another God. I put him in his place, naturally."

"Oh, I'm swooning." Childe grins, a wide and cheeky thing.

"Hardly a fight worth noting." Zhongli's tone is dry. "But it was enough to cause danger to the people of the Harbor. Skybracer sacrificed his horns to prop this mountain up and keep it from toppling over. And then he fought here, bloodied and broken, defending my people until he no longer could."

Childe falls quiet at that. "Died protecting what he loved, then."

"War is like that. A violent and cruel thing. But, Skybracer's actions have not been lost to time. Each year the Lantern Rite pays homage to his deeds. Liyue Harbor will never forget."

It is rare for Childe to fall quiet for so long, or look so contemplative. Zhongli wonders what it is that he thinks and wonders which mask it is that he wears right now.

After a long moment, Childe finally speaks. "I used to..." He pauses, swallowing thickly. He doesn't look at Zhongli, but rather, watches the Harbor, and the crystalline seascape that glitters below them.

"It was easy knowing that I would die doing my job. It isn't so easy now. The idea of it, I mean. But I'd happily give my life to protect you, not that you'd need it." He looks at Zhongli, his face soft with affection. "I suppose that my loyalties have shifted."

Zhongli realizes that Childe isn't wearing a mask, and that this is a true and genuine expression. Likely the truest that he's ever seen. Childe regards him with such love that Zhongli's heart skips a beat.

"Your antlers—" he said to another once, back when Zhongli wasn't even yet an idea.

"Are well worth the loss if it means to protect that which I love." Morax didn't understand at the time. But Zhongli does now.

This is the moment he realizes the depth of what he feels. Here, at the tip-top of Mt. Tianheng, where the breeze has a chill and Childe has brewed him too-bitter tea. It isn't just love, it's a matter of completion, an all-consuming and fiery thing that has burrowed its way deep, weathering down even his stony, rigid heart.

This is it, thinks Zhongli. This is what makes mortals tick, this is why they fight so stubbornly to live. Zhongli comes to understand that once Childe is gone, there will be nothing else for him.

It is jarring. Zhongli isn't accustomed to feeling so unbearably attached in such a way but the idea of it warms him, and he finds himself smiling.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Childe with a crooked smile.

Zhongli reaches out and takes his hand. He laces their fingers together and brings them close to his face. Childe sighs, content, as he nuzzles at the knuckles there, the touch lingering and reverent. Childe's skin is cold when he kisses it.

He doesn't answer.

He doesn't need to.