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Summer has always been the most troublesome season, for Zhongli.
Not that it is without merit. With absolutely no insult to Baal (who claims Inazuma is superior and is always wrong), Zhongli believes that summertimes are best spent beneath Liyue’s golden trees and within their bustling markets. Mountains can stand tall over the crystal waves, or dip themselves deep into the shoals that line edges of the land, offering an abundance of activity and a wealth of culture to unlock within its sculpted borders.
And to his citizens who choose to instead vacation in Baal’s sea-locked shores, he wishes them luck when dealing with their tentacled-infested cuisine and obsession with nature’s most abhorrent scaled creatures.
Anyways, summers: alluring, but irritable.
Zhongli cracks open a fan to wave the cool sea breeze to his face. While he holds many conflicting emotions about his location-of-choice for the most beautiful city in Teyvat, he can never complain about the atmosphere. The bridge at the city’s northmost gates presents a stunning view of the harbor, at such a distance where he can breathe in the salt-touched air and not feel nauseous from it.
Such a clear day washes Liyue in a heavenly glow, and lately, the sight of it has been making Zhongli want to burst with pride. Of course, Zhongli has always been proud of his people, and he has never been one to brag, outloud, but Childe is right here and—
Oh, he’s not, that’s the point. But if he were, Zhongli has a responsibility to catch the man up on, for example, how Inazuma had adopted their favorite summer snack from a beloved visiting Liyuese citizen who’d once brought over—
Ah, Celestia. Zhongli snaps the fan shut to smack it against his pursed lips, as if it may stop him from expressing such undignified displeasure.
If he is to be honest with himself, Zhongli has been riding an emotional high for the past few months. It’s an unexpected result of the Osial debacle, in which Zhongli had gone through the five stages of grief after Childe had returned to Snezhnaya, to which Zhongli then spent a good three weeks stuttering throughout Liyue as if missing a limb: starting conversations with a partner that was not there, opening tabs for meals he could not pay for, and standing in thick, eerie silence before painted scrolls in the market, aged signs in the street, flowers in the wild, for hours, imaging the things he would say to someone who most definitely did not have to be Childe, but…
(…But if it were, oh, he would just have to know about how there was once an Empress who’d started an uproar for using endangered Snezhnayan flora in a flower ball for the royal wedding. Though Zhongli personally found the arrangement quite stunning himself, would Childe think the same? Zhongli could recreate the piece for him to see, of course, and let him hold it for no reason in particular. Though personally, not to give much merit to Barbatos, but Zhongli thinks Mondstadian lamp grass would bring out the blue of Childe’s eyes quite stunningly when he’s draped in golds and reds—
Hm, a lovely image to compliment a lovely day.)
Childe’s unannounced return to Liyue on Zhongli’s fourth week of what was, at least to what Ningguang describes as, quite the embarrassing clusterfuck, had brought down an entire dam’s worth of conversation, broken open the moment Childe had given him the slightest berth of opportunity.
Zhongli doesn’t think he’d actually apologized once that day, but after about nine hours of making Childe endure Zhongli walking them around Liyue, and then out of Liyue, and then through several ruins and mountains, and then all the way back to Zhongli’s doorstep, pointing at random landmarks and speaking of each as the former Geo Archon and not just Zhongli the Very Knowledgeable Funeral Parlor Consultant, he can say that he found himself very apologetic indeed.
(“...and Bosacius did once have a statue here, quite the ugly thing, too, despite what word of mouth may say. Guizhong had many things to say about the accuracy of the artist’s interpretation of his posterior, and she did not seem interested when I told her that many human artists did not have accurate reference to interpret any of the adepti at the time— she’d actually suggested that my own statues over-emphasized certain parts of my body, though considering I did not identify as male during the time of this argument, I did not feel much personal attachment to the depicted form in that moment— Anyways, I ended up destroying it myself with a very, let’s say, unfortunately-aimed rock, just to vanquish the thing from my eyes, and then sent a few dreams saying it was a prophecy concerning the upcoming harvest. See, you can still feel some of the geo from my meteor embedded in the base here, Childe, come, feel this—”)
At the end of it all, Childe had tailed him with a cowed expression, as well as plenty of very patient ‘mm-hmm’s and ‘is that so’s in his arsenal, along with some appropriate (and, occasionally, inappropriate) lines of questioning, just to validate his mental presence.
Upon realizing that the man had somehow accompanied Zhongli through what must have been the heaviest bout of emotional brain vomit that he'd experienced in a long time, Zhongli had attempted to end the day with a well-deserved apology, but it'd instead come out as a very miserable, "I've missed you, Tartaglia."
“Mmh— huh, what?”
“Quite, um… a lot.” Zhongli’s throat had felt quite raw from speaking at that point; the audible crack in his voice had made him unable to meet Childe’s eyes. Such a bewildered look really brought out the light in them, didn’t it? “May we meet for lunch tomorrow? I’m afraid I may have wasted our time today; I assure you that I am very eager to hear of how you’ve been since we last met.”
And, well.
Zhongli is often asked of how he thought of Childe; many in Liyue thought of him as an expert on the man, at least the best in the vicinity, so he always has a pocket full of ways to describe the Eleventh on him at all times. Based on most of them, Childe would have either quipped a remark about Zhongli’s lack of decorum or, worse, brushed Zhongli off much like he did during his last couple days in Liyue all those weeks ago.
He’d done neither.
The way Childe had looked at him then, it was if his entire being had melted. Away with the practiced square of his shoulders and unnerving gaze, with the easy smile that hung on his mouth, as if it’d all just slipped off his person like a well-worn suit after a tiring day. It left him open and shaken and in awe all at once.
If Zhongli indulges enough in the memory, he could even admit to the faint red of Childe’s cheeks as he'd gazed up at Zhongli like he hadn’t seen the sun in a lifetime and oh, was it brilliant and warm.
Though it could have just been the lantern light, who was he to say?
Before Zhongli could truly tell, Childe had caught himself; the man is nothing if not a professional, after all. But Zhongli’s long and endless memory had captured it and framed it at the forefront of his mind.
(The hungry, draconic half of Zhongli’s brain had had the very tempting thought of taking Childe by the hand at that moment and keeping the man in his home as if a precious treasure, nestled in rich Liyuese silks and plush Snezhnayan furs as Zhongli himself nestled hot against Childe’s scarred and blushing skin.
And the stupid human half of Zhongli’s brain shut off like a light and made a very garbled noise that somewhat resembled basic mortal thought.)
“I see,” hummed Childe as if nothing had happened, “more like you miss my mora, right? Have you not indulged yourself once in my absence?”
Right. Zhongli had suppressed a sigh of disappointment. He was the last person to be spoiling anyone at the moment. How could one once be the revered Rex Lapis and not even be able to return the pampering of one who has cared for him tenfold? A hundred excuses churned through his head before Childe interrupted him with an airy sigh.
“Gods, how can you make that face— I’m kidding, Professor.” Childe then trailed off when Zhongli had been a little open with his relief— just an inkling of a smile— and seemed to consider before continuing with, “Okay, ah, uh… Hey, what if… what if I made you something instead? No mora involved.” And with more confidence: “I’m a pretty good chef, and it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, so you have to say yes.”
“Yes.” Without question. “I would love that.”
In hindsight, there should have been a lot of questions. Tartaglia has very specific hobbies and tastes, and Zhongli had been horrified to realize that he was not only willing to indulge Childe in such thing, but actually felt himself wanting to experience more, even after choking down an entire hotpot of nightmares that he really couldn’t taste, in the end.
Luckily for him, Childe is quite the storyteller, and he’d had much to say over a lunchtime that had turned into an entire afternoon that had turned into evening. Tartaglia, when not conspiring to smite an entire city and rid Liyue of their god, makes the most fantastic expressions when speaking of his adventures, no matter how graphic the content.
Standing on this bridge now, in absolute silence, Zhongli is allowed at least a little huff of annoyance at Childe’s absence from the harbor today.
Perhaps pathetically wandering the streets had not been the best way to spend his time off on the hottest day of the season yet. Though, ‘time off’ is a very loose term for Hu Tao apologetically closing the parlor after melting the building’s anemo-cyro box during one of her little faux-exorcisms and turning the entire place into the equivalent of a pyro regisvine lair.
“Zhongli,” she’d told him gravely, her coat ditched for a sweaty tank top, “flee this place, save yourself. I,” to which she means, Meng, “will take it upon myself,” Meng, “to save my family’s beloved business from the sun’s merciless blaze!” She peeks over at him through her theatrics. “And I demand you put on some shorts or something, just looking at you makes me feel so gross and sweaaaty!”
Zhongli had not put on shorts, but he did change. Being cold-blooded does cause him to forget common human weaknesses, after all, and it’s not often he thinks about the refreshing results of a high bun and a short-sleeved dress shirt.
He does find it a little much for Changchang take a pause in her playtime to ask, “Mr. Zhongli did you shed?” and startle him with offence because what a rude thing to say to an exuvia—
“Professor?”
“Childe,” the name slips out of Zhongli’s mouth before he even considers catching it. “Oh, you look as though you’ve had quite the day.”
Childe blinks owlishly from where he drips saltwater on the bridge. “You… too.”
Registering Zhongli’s words, he pushes his sopping-wet bangs out of his face, exposing dark, sun-kissed freckles and flushed cheeks, obviously have enjoyed himself. Part of Zhongli wants to call Childe out on the time he’d bragged about the greater majesty of Morepesok’s ice-cold shores since he now has the audacity to frequent Zhongli’s beaches as if a siren missing the sea. On the other hand, Zhongli realizes, he has never seen Childe’s bare legs before. This is important.
His thoughts are interrupted when a frustrated sound escapes Tartaglia, whose gaze is fixed on the dip of Zhongli’s exposed collarbone. He supposes it’s been a while since he’s sweat this much.
“Aah, what are you doing, Professor? Plotting another conspiracy?” Zhongli should count it a blessing that Childe can joking about that now, if the man’s mocking pout is anything to go by. Even if it seems strained. “An attempt at looking more human? Because it’s not working, I promise.”
“Considering you are already aware of my identity, I’d presume most of your opinions on the accuracy of my mortality are biased, but I will take your criticism into consideration.” Zhongli smirks when Childe rolls his eyes. “I can’t say you look completely inconspicuous yourself, if ditching your uniform was an attempt at anything specific? I assure you the Millileth are no less wary of your presence.”
“The Millileth are wary of how many breaths I take in a day, which I assume they wish is zero, but I’ve always been one to exceed expectations, you know.”
“Oh? And whose expectations are you exceeding today, an Oceanid’s?”
“My own. No better critic.” Childe slips his bag of holding off his shoulder and presents Zhongli with a horde of starconches, glittering wet against the sunlight. Amongst the shells, Zhongli spots clusters of other oceanic finds: coral pieces, sand dollars, mollusk and crab shells, and a whole family of different sea shells, obviously not for training purposes. “What’s that look for? Am I not allowed to scavenge your shores? But I’m so sweet.”
“You went for a swim?” Zhongli asks, recognizing a few of the finds as ones not commonly found on dry land. It would explain Childe’s unkempt appearance, if anything else.
Zhongli has witnessed Childe leap off of waterfalls, throw people off of bridges, and drown mitachurls in the sea with his own two hands. He can say with confidence that Childe, strutting back into town after a relaxing day collecting shells at the beach (and hazing the area, no doubt), is an entirely different creature. He's more akin to a fluffed-up golden retriever that took a splash in the ocean, entirely pleased by his playtime. Zhongli wants to take him home and dry him off and hold him on the couch as Childe feeds his loot to his insatiable vision with preening satisfaction.
“Don’t pretend to be jealous, Professor,” Childe scoffs as Zhongli picks out a red conch with interest. “You’re obviously having much more fun all the way up here than getting sand down your shirt.”
“I have you to bring me the best parts of the experience, after all,” Zhongli admits easily, admiring the quality of Childe’s handpicked selection. He doesn’t know what Childe plans on doing with them, he’d most likely grabbed them just because he could, but Zhongli knows a merchant or two that would sell items like these at a not-so-modest price to wide-eyed tourists. “And less mess, of course.”
“The experience and the results are two different halves of the event, Professor,” Childe says. There must be something in Zhongli’s bemused gaze that tells Tartaglia that the fight is not one easily won, because a little twinkle of challenge flickers in Childe’s eyes. “Missing out on a day at the beach with me, for example.”
Zhongli’s mouth twitches with amusement. “Ah, a convincing argument. Using yourself as a bartering tool is an unfair move, Tartaglia. You know how temptatious it is for me.” When he looks back up, Childe is giving him a dark look. Not angry, probably? His tongue presses against his bottom lip, as if he very much wants to say something, or maybe do something. “What is it?”
Childe makes a weak sound. “Nothing.” A cheery grin returns him to his usual posture. Followed by an expression Zhongli knows far too well. “I was just thinking, I’ve worked so hard today while you seem to be enjoying all the benefits. Since I’m on such a roll, why don’t I use my live catches to complete the evening with a homemade meal?”
“Ah, that’s—”
“You can’t say no, Zhongli.”
“Childe,” says Zhongli, because he’s still waiting for the right moment to call him Ajax, “it’s still so early in the day.”
“Nonsense. I know how much you love my cooking.” Ah, never one to be fooled twice, his Tartaglia. Childe leads Zhongli away from the railing with a light push to Zhongli’s back, and the heat of it is like the summer sun on his face a thousand times over, when he doesn’t pull away immediately. “Once-in-a-lifetime, remember?”
“I believe the spirit of the phrase is null when the experience is repeated often enough,” croaks Zhongli.
“I’d like to believe it just means you are one lucky man, Professor.”
What Zhongli really believes is that Childe enjoys watching Zhongli have to endure the results of his own hubris, or maybe that he just likes watching Zhongli face grievous personal trials for the sake of pleasing Childe.
What Zhongli does not tell him, yet, is that it’s okay if he never gets used to the taste. If he can have this once-in-a-lifetime experience forever; if it never grows old, he’s okay with that. Even if it does, he wants a hundred more experiences like these; ones that represent the leaps and bounds between them, memories of time found again, the ways two people can come back together after falling apart.
Six thousand years, and forgiveness is still a scarce and precious memory.
The most desirable of the seashells end up in Zhongli’s care without him asking, in glass jars for the small ones, and decorating the little corners of his house, for the large ones. Childe helps clean and polish them, under Zhongli’s curious gaze, as Zhongli pulls a towel through Childe’s damp hair.
It ends with soft red locks between Zhongli’s fingertips, and Childe goes quiet but doesn’t move until Zhongli’s thumb brushes against the darkened freckles on his cheek. Childe slowly lowers his head against Zhongli’s knee, and hesitantly, his eyes flutter shut as he sighs to the lull of Zhongli’s touch.
“You spoil me,” confesses Zhongli.
“Mm, is that so?” Childe hums, half-conscious. “I’m just selfish.”
“As am I.”
Lamp grass, glaze lilies, and just a few calla lilies.
Sometime in the autumn, though. Summer is quite the irritable season, indeed.