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They were known as that couple in Liyue.
Not officially, of course. There was no grand proclamation, no formal announcement, no contract bound in golden ink and signed in the presence of the Qixing. No, they simply were.
And that was enough for Liyue Harbor to know.
The first time Childe challenged Zhongli to a fight in the open streets of Liyue, a Millelith officer immediately turned around and walked in the other direction. By the second time, the officers had a betting pool. By the third, the entirety of Liyue had simply accepted it as a thing that happened.
"Oh, the Fatui Harbinger and the ex-Archon are at it again?"
"Yeah, they’re down by the docks today."
"Huh. Haven't seen them fight there before. Five mora says Zhongli knocks him into the water."
"Ten says Childe drags him in with him."
The local fishermen had long since stopped being startled by the sound of "COME ON, XIANSHENG, HIT ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT!" echoing across the waves. One of them even absentmindedly handed Zhongli a towel the first time Childe actually did manage to pull him into the harbor, before going back to gutting his fish.
Liyue watched them spar, watched the way Childe moved like the tide, relentless and wild, and the way Zhongli let himself bend—just enough, never too much—before inevitably bringing the fight to an effortless end.
The people saw the way Childe came alive under Zhongli’s gaze, the way his grin stretched wide and sharp, the way he laughed even as he lost.
They saw the way Zhongli watched him, unshaken and indulgent, as if the chaos of battle was simply another conversation between them, another language they shared.
Liyue saw, and Liyue knew.
"You are impossible," Childe groaned, rubbing his face as Zhongli once again pretended that he did not, in fact, need money to function in a capitalist society. "You can’t keep doing this to me, xiansheng."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Zhongli replied serenely, as he turned a particularly fine piece of Noctilucous Jade between his fingers. "You insisted that you would handle the financial aspects of this excursion."
Childe threw his hands in the air. "Because you always ‘forget’ your wallet!"
"How curious."
"It’s not curious! It’s a pattern! It’s a goddamn scam!"
"I find it interesting that you still feel the need to protest," Zhongli mused, pocketing the jade. "You were the one who offered, after all."
Childe opened his mouth, paused, squinted at him. "Are you gaslighting me?"
"I don’t believe that’s the correct usage of the term."
"You are! You totally are! And now I’m still buying you shit!"
"That does seem to be the case."
The vendor stifled a laugh as Childe let out an incoherent string of curses and slammed a bag of mora down onto the stall.
Liyue saw this at least once a week.
It became a tradition of sorts. The shopkeepers began taking bets on how long it would take for Childe to start cursing in Snezhnayan. The elders of the harbor would sit on their porches and sip their tea as if watching a well-loved opera.
And at the end of the day, no matter how much Childe complained, no matter how many times he swore this was the last time, he still paid for Zhongli’s jade, his tea, his incense, his goddamn exotic fruits from Fontaine.
Because Childe would never actually deny Zhongli anything, and Liyue knew.
Nothing extravagant, at least not at first glance.
But the people who watched—the people who paid attention—saw the way Zhongli’s hand would drift toward Childe’s elbow in a crowd, guiding him without a thought. They saw the way Childe leaned into it, like he was used to it, like he welcomed it.
The tea vendors noticed the way their fingers lingered when they exchanged cups, longer than necessary.
The fishermen noticed the way Zhongli’s hand would settle on Childe’s shoulder after a particularly hard fight, squeezing once, warm and grounding.
The tailors noticed the way Childe would absently adjust Zhongli’s sleeve cuffs, the way he smoothed the folds of his robe when he thought no one was looking.
The florists noticed the way Childe always seemed to know Zhongli’s favorite flowers, even though Zhongli himself had never once mentioned them out loud.
And perhaps most damning of all—
Xiangling noticed the way Zhongli stole food from Childe’s plate.
Because everyone in Liyue knew Childe. Knew how he fought tooth and nail for the last dumpling, how he had dueled people over the last crispy shrimp pancake.
But when Zhongli reached over and plucked a piece of fruit right from Childe’s chopsticks?
Childe only blinked, exhaled, and muttered, “God, you’re lucky you’re hot.”
Liyue saw. Liyue knew.
"Look at them," Hu Tao said, chin resting in her hands as she watched Zhongli and Childe from a rooftop. "Absolutely sickening."
Xingqiu hummed in agreement, sipping his tea. "You’d think they would’ve figured it out by now."
"You’d think," Keqing muttered.
"They live together," Xiangling pointed out.
"Truly a mystery," Chongyun deadpanned.
"They take moonlit walks around the harbor."
"Utterly baffling."
"Childe has a key to Zhongli’s house."
"Who could possibly guess?"
Madame Ping shook her head as she shuffled by. "Poor things. Their heads are so far up their own asses they might as well be in another plane of existence."
And yet, despite the entire city knowing, despite the betting pools, despite the blatant evidence—
Childe and Zhongli continued to dance around each other, two celestial bodies caught in an orbit of their own making, spinning and spinning, always close, never quite colliding.
Until—
Nah.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite literally everyone in the city knowing, Childe and Zhongli remained blissfully, painfully, tragically oblivious.
It was starting to become an issue.
It wasn’t just the Millelith or the shopkeepers anymore.
The Qixing knew.
The adepti knew.
Even the Fatui fucking knew.
Scaramouche, of all people, had taken one look at them and scoffed, “Tch. At least be honest about it. It’s embarrassing.”
Childe had squawked in offense, ready to throw hands over whatever the hell that meant, while Zhongli merely sipped his tea, unfazed.
But when Scaramouche was calling you embarrassing? That was when you needed to reconsider your life choices.
And yet, nothing changed.
Nothing changed when Madame Ping started knitting a pair of matching scarves.
Nothing changed when Xiangling started giving them “romantic couple’s discounts” at Wanmin Restaurant.
Nothing changed when Ningguang, of all people, arched a perfectly shaped brow and said, “I wasn’t aware that you two had signed a contract of exclusivity.”
Childe choked so violently on his drink that Beidou had to slap his back.
Zhongli, the bastard, smiled knowingly and did not elaborate.
The entire harbor suffered.
For most of Liyue, it had become a daily exercise in patience, watching Childe and Zhongli skirt around their obvious relationship.
But patience had its limits.
The breaking point came when Yanfei lost a case.
She never lost cases. Ever.
And yet, there she was, seething, pacing furiously outside Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as Hu Tao, Keqing, and a few unfortunate bystanders listened in.
“I had three witnesses, an ironclad contract, precedent dating back centuries—”
“Uh-huh.”
“And yet, somehow, against all logic, the judge ruled in their favor—”
“Right.”
“Because, and I quote, ‘They may not be officially married, but they’re basically common-law spouses at this point.’”
Silence.
Hu Tao whistled. “Damn.”
Keqing pinched the bridge of her nose. “This is getting out of hand.”
Yanfei threw up her hands. “Getting? Keqing, I just lost a case because a judge thought they were basically married!”
“I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified,” Chongyun muttered.
Xingqiu sipped his tea. “Why not both?”
They stared at each other.
They stared at the door to the funeral parlor, behind which the two menaces in question were probably discussing historical contract law over tea like they hadn’t just inadvertently changed legal precedent.
Then Hu Tao clapped her hands together. “Alright. New plan.”
Hu Tao, Keqing, Yanfei, Xiangling, and an alarming amount of people in Liyue decided that enough was enough.
And so, it began.
It started small—subtle manipulations of their daily routines.
The tea vendors accidentally gave them couple's sets.
The tailors mistakenly sent them matching outfits.
The innkeepers happened to only have one-bed rooms left whenever Childe needed a place to stay.
Zhongli, ever composed, never questioned it.
Childe, on the other hand, was in agony.
“This is getting weird,” he muttered one evening as he and Zhongli walked through the harbor. “Did you see what that old lady called us earlier?”
Zhongli hummed. “She called us an old married couple.”
“Yes!” Childe flailed. “And you didn’t even correct her!”
Zhongli tilted his head, regarding him with infuriating calm. “Should I have?”
Childe’s brain short-circuited.
“I—YES?!”
Zhongli merely continued walking.
Childe stared after him.
The people of Liyue, watching from the shadows, groaned in pain.
The shopkeepers had accepted their fates long ago. The Millelith had been running bets for ages. The Qixing had been waiting, watching, side-eyeing from the background.
And then there was Hu Tao.
"I cannot take this anymore," Hu Tao announced one evening, dramatically draping herself across Zhongli’s desk. "I am dying, and not in the fun, poetic way."
"That is quite the claim," Zhongli said dryly, not even looking up from his calligraphy.
Hu Tao groaned, rolling onto her back. "How? How are you still like this?"
"Like what?"
Hu Tao flung her arm over her face, as if this conversation were physically painful. "Zhongli, my dearest, most oblivious ex-Archon, you and Childe—"
"What of him?"
"You are together."
"Yes," Zhongli said, like this was a completely normal and unremarkable statement. "We are often in each other’s company."
Hu Tao sat up so fast she nearly fell off the desk. "That’s not what I meant!"
Zhongli tilted his head. "Then you should be more specific in your phrasing."
Hu Tao stared at him. "You don’t know."
Zhongli frowned. "Know what?"
"You don’t know."
"I am unsure what you are referring to."
Hu Tao slapped her hands over her face. "You actually don’t know."
And that was when she realized.
Zhongli—Rex Lapis, the God of Contracts, the wise and ancient Archon of Stone—had no fucking idea he was in love with Childe.
Hu Tao took a deep breath. "Alright. Okay. This is fine. This is—this is salvageable. You are not a lost cause. Yet."
"I do not believe my circumstances require salvaging," Zhongli said, puzzled.
"Oh, you do," Hu Tao said grimly, seizing his wrist. "Come. We are fixing this."
And just like that, Zhongli was dragged into what would later be referred to as The Intervention of Liyue Harbor.
Across town, Childe was in the middle of a very similar conversation.
"Alright," Beidou said, folding her arms. "What the hell is going on with you and Zhongli?"
Childe blinked. "What do you mean?"
Beidou groaned. "This—this right here—is the problem."
Xingqiu sighed, setting down his book. "I had a feeling this would take more than one attempt."
"You and Zhongli," Beidou said slowly, as if speaking to an absolute idiot, "are together."
Childe frowned. "I mean, we do spend a lot of time together—"
"NO." Beidou grabbed his shoulders. "You. Are. Dating."
Childe opened his mouth. Paused. Blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Oh my god."
"Since when?"
"Since always," Xingqiu muttered, rubbing his temples. "How are you only realizing this now?"
Childe’s brain was doing all sorts of flips. "I—what?"
"You live together," Chongyun pointed out.
"You share meals," Xiangling added.
"You buy him everything he so much as glances at," Beidou said.
"You are constantly flirting," Xingqiu muttered.
"You let him steal food off your plate," Xiangling said, and that one hit Childe hard.
He never let anyone steal food off his plate.
Except Zhongli.
Who had been doing it for months.
Who he hadn’t even stopped.
Who he had, in fact, started giving food to before he even asked.
"Oh," Childe said, blinking slowly. "Oh."
And just like that, realization hit him like a ton of Cor Lapis bricks.
He was dating Zhongli.
Had been. For ages.
Liyue had known. Everyone had known.
Except them.
Childe groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I’m an idiot."
"Yes," Beidou said, clapping him on the back. "But you’re our idiot."
Childe stormed into the parlor, right as Hu Tao was in the middle of psychoanalyzing Zhongli with the intensity of a war strategist.
"HEY."
Zhongli looked up, calm as ever. "Ah. Childe. Did you—"
"ARE WE DATING?"
Zhongli blinked. "...I had assumed so, yes."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU ASSUMED?"
Hu Tao cackled, slapping the desk. "He didn’t know, either!"
"Wait," Childe said, throwing his hands in the air. "So we are?"
"Yes," Zhongli said simply.
"For how long?"
Zhongli tilted his head. "Would you prefer an estimate in mortal years, or—"
"OH MY FUCKING GOD."
Hu Tao fell off her chair laughing.
Childe groaned, running a hand through his hair. "We are so stupid."
Zhongli hummed, sipping his tea. "I believe the phrase is, we were the last to know."
And finally—finally—Childe collapsed onto the seat beside him and laughed.
And all of Liyue sighed in exhausted, triumphant relief.