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There are times when a person makes a mistake.
There are times when a person makes a big mistake.
And when a mistake is made, it is right to apologise.
Childe finds himself apologising often.
He apologises to Ekaterina, for missed deadlines on paperwork, for arriving late to a meeting, for a stray trail of blood trodden through the bank’s foyer.
He apologises to his siblings, for the months spent apart, for not being there to see when Teucer catches his first fish, to listen when Anthon learns his first tune on the frilka, and to comfort when Tonia experiences her first heartbreak.
He apologises to his father for…
He doesn’t apologise to his father, but he’s sorry for many things.
This time, Childe has made another mistake, and he doesn’t know how to apologise.
Childe made a friend — not a mistake in itself — but nevertheless unexpected. A friend he’d expected to one day betray, trading the knowledge Zhongli had so eagerly given for a chance to rip the Gnosis from his Archon’s chest.
Little did he know back then that Zhongli was the Archon he sought.
On that day at the bank when he learned of Zhongli’s deception, he didn’t look back as he stormed out, bitterness leaking from the fresh wound of betrayal. Since then, he hasn’t spoken to Zhongli, nor sought him out, and neither has Zhongli reached out to him.
Why would he, when their partnership was intended to be nothing other than a charade?
Childe crumbles a sheet of paper in his fist — another unsuccessful attempt at an apology letter — and groans, folding forward onto his desk.
He liked Zhongli.
He liked Zhongli a lot.
He still likes Zhongli.
And he fucked it all up.
It’s not supposed to be this way. Zhongli used him. He used Zhongli. Their friendship should be over and their paths should part for good. Yet he can’t help but remember the meals more extravagant than a simple business meeting might call for; the walks with Zhongli reciting to him the detailed history of Liyue Harbor that lasted far longer than they ought; and their talks late at night, voices low in the candlelight, the conversation deeper and more personal than was wise for him to allow.
Childe thinks there’s something worth saving.
Words aren’t working, he’s tried those a dozen times already, and each past attempt now sits screwed in a ball in the wastepaper bin beside his desk. It’s time for a change of plan.
Whenever Childe is granted leave to return home, he arrives with his arms crammed with gifts, tokens of affection that will remain with his siblings long after he departs Snezhnaya. His siblings take their gifts, clutching them to their chests and giggling with delight at what an awesome big brother they have.
If only they knew.
However, while Zhongli didn’t squeal with delight the way his siblings did, there had always been an undeniable glint in those golden eyes, an upward curling of his lips when Childe purchased him an item he’d mused over, hovering by the display with his chin in his hand and his head cocked to the side, yet failed to purchase using his own mora.
Perhaps Zhongli will like a gift.
Childe pulls himself to his feet and paces around his room at Baiju Guesthouse, running his hands across the surfaces cluttered with his personal possessions. Trinkets, books, a couple of novelty fire water flasks — these things are far too ordinary to serve as an appropriate gift to patch the gaping hole in their relationship.
He needs something grand.
He needs something meaningful.
Reaching his bedside, Childe’s gaze falls to the pile of equipment stacked beside it — armour, weapons, potions and oils — and it’s all so obvious.
Morax was known as a god of martial arts. What better an offering to a god so gifted in battle than a weapon? Weapons are great. He remembers fondly the first shortsword his father gifted him, how proud he’d been, a gift that acknowledged his potential as a warrior, an adventurer, or whatever fanciful ideas his innocent head held at the time.
Zhongli doesn’t need his potential acknowledging, but perhaps it will rather serve as an acknowledgement of his past, to tell him that Childe accepts his identity as Morax, and that perhaps they might start anew.
With a satisfied hum, Childe sets to work.
As the passage of time passes, marked in Zhongli’s day in the form of another document from Zhongli’s desk being moved onto the completed pile of requested funeral rites. It is an interesting thought, how one simple sheet of paper, slightly crinkled at the edges, holds the accumulation of the desires for one’s final mark upon this world. How peculiar it is that—
A tapping on the door interrupts his train of thought, followed by a “Yahoooo!”
That child…
“Director Hu, may I be of assistance?”
A pair of mischievous, red eyes peer around the door, signalling the arrival of the harbinger of chaos, come to shatter the peace found within this blissful pocket of tranquillity. She carries, or rather drags a long, thin package, wrapped in quality paper and tied neatly with string, easily her height in length.
“Special delivery for the consultant!” She winks and slings the thing across Zhongli’s desk in a wild, uncontrolled swoop. It crashes through his neatly stacked papers, sending them, along with Zhongli’s hopes of making it home before nightfall, scattering across the floor. “Oops,” she giggles and begins gathering them up in the incorrect order, dumping them haphazardly on the corner of the desk.
Zhongli’s eye twitches. “Ah, Director Hu, there is no need to concern yourself. It is nothing I cannot handle myself, and you must have other, more important matters to attend to, yes?”
“Aww, don’t you worry yourself, old man. I’ve got this!” Hu Tao piles on yet more papers, mixing the Sunday ceremony files with the Saturday ones. A travesty most harrowing.
Zhongli places his hand on top of Hu Tao’s slapdash pile. “Please, I must insist.”
She pauses, a crumpled piece of paper in hand. That one in sadly past the point of no return; he shall need to re-complete it later. “Humph.” She frowns. “And just what’s wrong with my help, huh?”
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Hmm.” Zhongli looks to the door. “Is that someone at the reception desk I hear?”
“Oi, don’t you go changing the subject.”
“Yes, a new client. In order to fulfil our dedication to customer service, it would only be proper for the director to extend them a proper greeting.”
“Aiya, you better not be making this up, lizard brain.”
“Making it up? I have no idea what you could mean. That would be awfully deceitful of me indeed.”
Hu Tao looks between Zhongli and the door, then sighs. “Fine. I’m going, I’m going.”
She leaves, not before touching her index and middle fingers below each eye and then pointing them at Zhongli. A strange gesture of the time’s youth. Ah well, whatever the meaning of such a gesture might be, the trek down to the reception desk should keep her well occupied for a few cherished minutes of peace.
Before setting to right Hu Tao’s mess, his attention turns to the object taking up the majority of his desk. The papers look at him accusingly, but it simply won’t do to have this thing here taking up all this valuable space. Best he unwrap it and put the contents in their proper place. And if it satisfies his curiosity at the same time, well, that is but an added perk.
He tugs at the string and it unravels easily, a rectangular piece of card the size of his palm falling to the desk from it. It lands face up, the text upon it reading:
To Zhongli
From Tartaglia
Those four simple words lift his heart. Childe has sent him a gift. How generous.
Childe hasn’t spoken to him since that day. Finding out his true identity was probably a shock for the poor boy and Zhongli thought it best to give him his space. Yet despite Childe’s reckless actions, Zhongli does miss his lively chatter. It would be a relief to know that there is some hope their relationship may yet be salvageable. Perhaps one day he shall find the opportunity to tell Childe the true meaning of the chopsticks he picked out for him and perhaps, if the stars in the sky permit it, Childe might reciprocate.
His hands shake as he fumbles with the paper, tearing and ripping at it in a way that he supposes the public would consider most unZhongli-like, but his eagerness wins out and in seconds he is sitting with an mahogany box in front of him, dragons engraved into the sides, smiling up at him.
Zhongli chuckles. Childe has always had taste.
But as he undoes the clasps and flips open the lid to reveal the contents within, his face falls.
A sword.
He folds forward onto the table, resting his head on his arms as he stares at the cruel gift. They had left things off badly, yes, but was it truly so awful that Childe felt the need to announce their separation in such a way? A letter explaining his reasoning would have been nice, a final meal together to declare his intentions to leave for good, or Childe arriving at his doorstep, full of rage and foul words, would have been better than this.
To send such a message with such impersonal callousness… Childe must have taken greater offence than previously presumed.
Zhongli sighs, flips the box closed, and begins to gather the mess of papers still scattered around his desk.
So life goes on.
Childe is confused.
The girl, Hu Tao, told him that she would take his gift straight to Zhongli and so, with an important message to The Tsaritsa to reply to, Childe had trusted her and returned to the bank. Yet now, with a week passed since dropping the sword off at the funeral parlour, he hasn’t heard a thing from Zhongli. A bit rude, in his humble opinion; even when his Great Aunt Sofia knitted him those awful socks for his birthday one year, he’d still had the manners to say thank you.
He makes his way back through the market after another solo lunch at Wanmin Restaurant, weaving through the heaving crowd. Zhongli failed to show again, the invitation he’d written and stowed in a compartment underneath the sword ignored.
Very rude.
But very odd.
While a little eccentric, and far more full of secrets than anyone else Childe has previously met, Zhongli is not a rude man.
It hits him. Zhongli must have not received his message, or perhaps he has kept the sword safely stored in its box, so fervent on the topic of antique preservation he is.
Childe stops dead. What a fool he is. He should have foreseen this.
No matter, he can find another gift for Zhongli, write him a new message to better declare his intentions. The market is packed today for good reason: the monthly trade sale is in full swing, and the place is abundant in luxurious goods and fresh foods that will make marvellous gifts.
He edges his way toward a line of stalls examining the products they offer. There’s jewellery, ornaments, and a variety of knick-knacks. All grand options, but none of them quite right for Zhongli.
A man’s yelling a few stalls to the left grabs his attention.
“Beautiful new tea sets here! For all your needs, be it a formal business meeting, or hosting a friend, Qingce Teas is here for you.”
Tea. Zhongli likes tea. This will sway him for sure.
Childe saunters up to the stall, his mora pouch heavy and unused. Rows upon rows of tea cups are set out, along with matching teapots and various other utensils.
The Yelling Man greets him with a toothy smile and starts to engage in his usual sales patter, telling Childe the history behind each design, their various prices, and the discounts on offer. Childe nods along politely, not listening to any of it, but instead examining each of the designs, mentally picking out the best choice for Zhongli.
Two designs catch his eye. One with a beautiful ginkgo tree (Zhongli likes to read his books beneath them, when the weather is pleasant), and the other with a mountain backdrop.
But he can do better than this. If he’s buying Zhongli a tea set, he’s opting for full luxury.
He bids farewell to Yelling Man and instead heads for the luxury tea shop a few streets down that Zhongli would gaze at longingly each time they passed. It’s still there, exactly as he remembers it, a number of beautiful tea sets displayed in the window.
This is the place.
Less than half an hour later he leaves, cradling a ‘Limited Edition Rex Lapis Tea Set’ in his arms. It might have set him back 100,000 mora, but it’s all worth it for Zhongli. He hums to himself as he heads down the road, his solution to all his problems now secured. First a quick trip to the bank to write a message to go along with it, then he’ll ask Ekaterina to get one of the bank staff to deliver them that very afternoon. No delays, no fuss. No middlewoman Hu Tao. A flawless plan.
He climbs the stairs and crosses the bridge to the bank with no issue, but as he is about to open the front door, a wild looking Vlad flings it open, smashing into the box containing Childe’s cups. Fortunately, Childe keeps a firm grasp, keeping them from falling, but Vlad appears horrified nonetheless.
“Apologies, Lord Harbinger,” pants Vlad, red faced with sweat on his brow as he bows, pressing his hands together. “Emergency meeting with a new… with a new customer. Please excuse my… please excuse my…” He runs out of breath, leaning against the wall.
Childe pats him on the shoulder. “Relax, Vlad. No harm done, see? Now, take a minute and go get that deal, for Her Majesty.”
“Yes, sir.” Vlad gives a flimsy salute. “For Her… For Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.”
“Good man.”
Childe gives Vlad a final pat on the shoulder, letting him on his way as he steps into the bank.
He has a very important package to send.
Hey Zhongli,
Hope you got my last little gift! In case you didn’t, this one should make my intentions clear.
Maybe we shall see each other soon. 🙂
Tartaglia
Oh, his intentions are perfectly clear, thinks Zhongli as he stares at the horror on his kitchen table, Childe’s letter held in an unsteady hand.
Childe’s intentions are perfectly clear and oh he does not trust that little smiley face Childe has drawn on his note.
Ominous. Menacing. Far too cheerful.
Not to mention the gift.
A Rex Lapis tea set — or rather, the shards of a Rex Lapis tea set — bearing the pattern of his very own element of Geo, smashed beyond repair, came tumbling from the box that had been delivered by a sour-faced Fatui envoy.
Apparently it wasn’t enough for Childe to express his intent of severing their ties with his previous gift. No, he is now expressing a direct wish that Zhongli himself no longer exists, to destroy any memory of him and their times together.
Or, he supposes, that’s what he supposes the tea cups are intended to symbolise. Not that it matters. A set of destroyed items representing himself have been sent to him, quite deliberately; for him to doubt Childe’s intentions after he has sent such a gift would be an exercise of foolish hope.
And that little smiley face that stares up from the page alongside that peculiar little sentence… What on earth could Childe wish to see him for after this?
A smashed tea set… meet soon… that untrustworthy smile…
Zhongli drops the letter to the floor.
No, surely not. Surely Childe is not… threatening him?
Zhongli sighs and, for once, he doubts a cup of tea will make him feel better.
Childe drums his fingers on his desk, elbow propped on the table and head in his hand.
What a frustrating week.
Zhongli has still not replied to his latest offering, but this time he knows Zhongli received it; Ekaterina received confirmation as much from the agent she assigned to the task, which leads him to one conclusion:
Zhongli is ignoring him.
Well, Harbinger Tartaglia does not like to be ignored.
He stands and begins pacing across the room. He needs something big, something extraordinary, something Zhongli has to react to.
But what could catch the attention of Rex Lapis, Lord of Geo? He thought he’d been onto a winner with the tea set, but evidently he was mistaken.
The head of a stag mounted on the wall catches his attention, staring down at him with its fake, glassy eyes. What a magnificent beast it must have been, roaming the woodland, proud and tall, using those beautiful yet dangerous antlers to defend its territory from both predator and fellow deerkind alike. It's almost a pity that such a creature had to end up on some hunter’s dinner plate.
Dinner. Food. Meat.
While Zhongli doesn’t like seafood, he often spends hours of his time painstakingly preparing that meat-based dish he seems so fond of.
Zhongli likes meat. Childe likes hunting.
It would seem he has a plan.
This time, Zhongli won’t be able to ignore him any longer.
This is most unexpected.
A box the width of the door sits on Zhongli’s doorstep, accompanied only by a simple note: Open Me.
Zhongli isn’t sure he wants to open it.
After much heaving and twisting, he manages to manoeuvre it into the house. It’s heavy, but doesn’t make any distinctive sound as he shifts it that he can identify the contents by.
While the contents of the box remain a mystery, there is only one person that comes to mind who might have sent it; he would know that handwriting anywhere. The thought does not lift Zhongli’s spirits.
The package is awkward and cumbersome, so rather than suffer the process of dragging the thing into the kitchen, he opts to open it there and then. He fetches his scissors and cuts the string, the severed threads flopping lifeless to the floor as he kneels by the side of the box. The flaps bounce open slightly, welcoming him to peruse the contents within, but Zhongli does not feel welcomed at all. Still, it would be rude to refuse to open the thing, no matter how horrific the contents.
He inserts one thumb below the top flap, pulling it open.
He follows with the second.
He leans forward.
The sight within sends him reeling back, catching himself on the wall to prevent his fall.
He must be seeing things in his old age, because surely Childe wouldn’t have sent that.
Zhongli pulls himself to his feet and walks into the living room, straightening his skewed tie, his heart rate slowly calming to a more normal pace. Arriving at the window, he observes the people walking by, searching for some sign of abnormality or inconsistency. However, everything appears as normal.
This is fine.
There is nothing wrong with him. What he saw in that cursed box must have been a trick of the light.
Taking deep breaths as he returns to the box, Zhongli closes his eyes, takes a final breath, and opens them.
He looks into the box.
It looks back.
Unseeing eyes stare at him. A mighty creature, blessed with the body of the esteemed adeptus, Moon Carver, and horns resembling the revered exuvia of Rex Lapis. Underneath the plaque there is another, smaller box, imbued with cryo. His blood runs just as cold as his suspicions rise as to what it contains.
It is now that several lines of black ink written on the inside of one of the top flaps catches his eye.
Zhongli.
I won’t let you ignore me any longer! If you truly wish for this to end, meet me at the grasslands to the west of the Golden House tomorrow afternoon. We should stand face to face for this.
Tartaglia.
If Zhongli had been harbouring any doubts previously, Childe’s message sets his mind as solid as stone: this is a threat, both upon Zhongli and the very adepti themselves. For what other reason would he slaughter a beast with the very same body as one, only to send the sordid remnants to his doorstep.
He’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that their relationship might be recoverable, but Childe’s actions have made his intentions clear enough. It can’t be helped; if it is a battle to the death Childe wishes for, then so be it. He shall attend, attempt to make the boy see reason, but if the Fatui intend to make themselves a threat to his kin, then he will do what he must.
It shall be over soon.
Childe whistles, fishing rod slung over his shoulder as he walks the path toward his meeting point with Zhongli. It’s a beautiful day, the sort where the sun sits high in the sky, yet the air is still crisp and fresh. A sack in his other hand is stuffed full of his bountiful haul from the morning — medaka, crystalfish and betta — and now Zhongli is finally giving them the chance to speak again.
What a wonderful day.
What an awful day.
Zhongli trudges along the valley path toward their meeting point, sheer grey cliff faces looming either side. He knows by heart the spot Childe means for them to meet; they spent many an afternoon there, Zhongli reading his book while Childe sought out all manner of beasts to challenge. Magnificent, Zhongli had thought as he would sneak a look at Childe over the top of the book he was reading. There was something about the way Childe leapt and twisted as he aimed for the monster’s most vulnerable spots, graceful yet lethal, precise and chaotic, that Zhongli couldn’t tear his eyes from.
Today, he shall bear witness to such things first hand.
As he rounds the corner, Zhongli sees him. Perched on a stone overhang, legs swinging in the air, fingers tapping against stone, Childe’s gaze is turned to the clouds, having not yet noticed Zhongli. How typical he would face such a conflict with such ease. He looks boyish and innocent like this and, despite Childe's impertinence, Zhongli’s heart pangs at the thought that he may be laying still on the ground in less than an hour. All going well, it shall be swift and painless.
Zhongli continues toward him, and as he draws closer, Childe catches sight of him, extending an arm overhead to wave, his face lit up with a warm smile. It is clearly a technique meant to disarm his opponent, and Zhongli pushes on, paying no note to the shark’s fake smile.
Childe’s face falls. Good, it is clear he understands his tricks shall have no effect.
Zhongli stops at the base of the mound leading up to the spot where Childe sits. “Greetings, Tartaglia,” he says, “I trust we both understand why we are here today.”
“Naturally!” Childe bounces to his feet, that puppy-like grin returning. “Good to see you again, xiansheng.”
“Indeed. It is regrettable it were not under more favourable circumstances.”
“Huh?” Childe frowns. “I thought you liked it here?”
“This is a wonderful spot, yet the issue is not with the location, as I’m sure you are aware.”
“Ah. I see.” Childe drops down to land in front of Zhongli, boots crunching on the gravel and sending up a cloud of dust. Another dastardly distraction. “In that case, I suppose we should begin. Xiansheng, I—”
“—shall not hold back.”
“—am really sorry for all the inconvenience I caused you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Huh?”
They both look at each other. Childe’s face contorts with perplexion, and Zhongli’s muscles twist in kind.
Has he heard correctly? Was that an apology that came from Childe’s lips, not a declaration of his intent to fight to the death?
“Ah, well…” Childe rubs the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I’m honoured you’re finally up for giving me that spar, really, but I went fishing this morning and got a really great haul. Wouldn’t want to risk damaging the catch and all that…”
Zhongli looks at the spear in his hand that he doesn’t remember summoning, pointed directly toward Childe’s middle. He lowers it. “Childe, you are not here to fight?”
“Hey, I don’t always need to fight.” Childe scuffs at the ground with his heel. “Like I said, don’t want to damage my haul. I’m just here to apologise, xiansheng, I thought that was obvious from all the stuff I sent you?”
Zhongli de-summons his spear and closes the distance between them. “Your intent was quite obvious, yes. If you are not here to fight, then you are here to mock me further?”
“Mock you?” Childe’s voice is suddenly small. “I really… I really don’t understand.”
“You sent me a sword to tell me that you wish to sever our ties, then continued to denounce our friendship and threaten my person with the gifts which followed. Now you mock me with false apologies.”
“What? No, that’s not what it meant at all!” Childe looks so pitiful that Zhongli cannot help but soften. For Childe to come here with a genuine tone and a freely-given apology… perhaps there indeed has been a misunderstanding.
Zhongli rubs his forehead and sighs. “It appears we have much to discuss. Come.”
He leads the way, his temper not yet quelled enough to give Childe the freedom to refuse, but Childe follows without argument nonetheless. The pair climb up to the outcrop Childe had been sitting on earlier and sit, legs swinging side by side, shoulders not quite touching.
“So, Childe,” says Zhongli, “would you mind telling me what you hoped to convey at the time you asked for Hu Tao to deliver that sword to me?”
“The sword? Huh, thought it was obvious.”
“As did I, but I would appreciate hearing it directly from yourself.”
“Well,” says Childe, “Morax, I mean, Rex Lapis, was a god of martial arts, right?”
“That is correct, yes.”
“So I was thinking if I sent you a sword befitting such a god, you’d know it means I acknowledge you’re Rex Lapis, but I’m not mad about it any more. Not that I was mad, well, I was, but…” Childe kicks his heels against the rock face and sighs. “Look, it just means I know you’re Rex Lapis, and that’s fine with me.”
It is a reasonable explanation of intent, for Childe is not from Liyue; it is indeed possible his intentions were pure. The irritation begins to evaporate from Zhongli’s veins, and he asks with a gentler tone, “I see. And the smashed tea set?”
At the word ‘smashed’, Childe freezes before looking to Zhongli wide-eyed. “What? They broke? Drat, must’ve run into Vlad harder than I thought…”
“So it was not intentional?”
“Of course not! Why would I send you smashed cups? You couldn’t hope to use them for anything like that. I was hoping we could use them when you responded to my letter — which you never did, by the way.”
Childe gives him a dramatic pout, but he breaks eye contact a little too quickly, a flicker of hurt escaping his mask of joviality. Oh dear. It does seem as though they’ve gotten their wires crossed.
Zhongli lets his hand rest on the rock between them, his pinkie touching the corner of Childe’s jacket. “Apologies, Childe. It would seem I have incorrectly interpreted your intentions.”
“C’mon, a few smashed cups aren’t that bad, surely?”
Zhongli stifles a chuckle into his fist. This boy will be the death of him. Well, his second death, technically, but that is quite beside the point. He composes himself, addressing Childe with as calm a demeanour as he can muster. “Childe, these were cups in Rex Lapis’, in my image. What do you think this could imply?”
A pause. “Oh. My bad.”
“Now, there is one question remaining. I would like to ask you the reason why yesterday, on an otherwise pleasant morning, I received a deer head in a box.”
“And meat!”
“Yes… and meat.”
Childe frowns. “You like meat.”
“That is correct.”
“So, did you cook it yet? How did it taste?” asks Childe, full of innocence and blissful ignorance. There are many things Zhongli will have to teach him, but it is no small relief to know that those actions that appeared to be tainted with malice were, in fact, a misguided kindness.
Zhongli will not explain to him the implications of the deer today; it is a lesson for another time. “I have not,” says Zhongli, “but perhaps we can try together, if you wish it.”
Childe bounces where he sits and — oh — he throws an arm around Zhongli’s shoulder, squishing them close, side by side. “I’d love that, xiansheng! You know how to make an offer a guy can’t refuse.”
“Ah, well, I… you are most welcome, Childe,” says Zhongli, tentatively returning the gesture. Childe is warm and close and, while he carries the awful scent of those fish he’s been lumbering around, he still smells as Zhongli remembers from those evenings spent dining together. The streets were already paved with darkness, and Xiangling had lit a candle between them ‘for the mood’. When Childe leaned over to whisper something in his ear, he smelt just the same, wild, but homely, and the memory floods back warm and comforting, like coming home after a long journey.
“Guess this means I’m forgiven then.”
“Of course. And on my part, I would like to express my regret if the details of my contract with Signora led you to believe there was insincerity in some of our other interactions.”
“Contract’s a contract, can’t expect any less from the great Rex Lapis. Anyway, you get used to it in my line of work. But I’m glad to hear it; I always thought we got on quite well.” Childe pulls back, giving Zhongli one of those closed-eye smiles he’s missed so much.
Unable to let himself pull away completely, Zhongli lets his hand rest on Childe’s arm. “Very well indeed, I’d say.”
There’s a momentary shyness, a flash of vulnerability before Childe’s usual, confident expression returns, and he jumps to his feet. “Well then, I guess if we’re going to be cooking, we should take this back to your place.”
Zhongli gives a pointed look toward Childe’s stash of fish.
“Okay, okay, I’ll take those back to the bank first.”
“That is most considerate of you.”
Childe offers a hand, helping Zhongli to his feet, and they set off back toward Liyue. If they bump shoulders a few times, if Zhongli’s fingers brush against the back of Childe’s hand, if their pinkies intertwine for a moment, neither of them comment on it, and the air is filled with eager conversation and easy, natural laughter.
There are times when a person makes a mistake.
There are times when two people make a mistake.
But the ramifications of those mistakes need not be eternal.
And sometimes, if the fates align and apologies are made, a second chance can be granted, a second chance at something beautiful.