Chapter Text
They knew it was coming. It was a reality they couldn't change. Having made peace with that reality, they didn't resent it, nor did they question it.
One day, Childe will pass on, while Zhongli stands ever waiting.
It was hard to accept at first.
Knowing that Zhongli would spend an eternity without him was painful for Childe. He didn't want Zhongli to be lonely when he was gone. He had long come to terms that Zhongli may move on, like how he did for Guizhong when he proposed to him. Childe doesn't resent his future companions or lovers; he hopes he treats him well.
For Zhongli, it's knowing that one day Childe will leave, and he'll be alone mourning his death, just like his companions lost decades ago. He loves Childe, a different love from Guizhong, but no less strong. He doesn't wish for Childe to part with him, but he knows that even a god as powerful as he cannot bend reality in his favor.
In the beginning, they ignored it.
Ignored it for passionate nights and dates in their friends' company. A purposeful denial to prolong the conversation's arrival. Their romance was too fresh then, they weren't ready to breach the subject.
They were both intent on marrying and living out their domestic fantasies, feeling (foolishly) that they knew that they were right for each other. They were content in their denial, wanting to prolong that blissful dream of a happy forever.
As time passed on, Childe only earned more scars. Those marks were reminders of his mortality, reminders of the topic they had to discuss. They pushed it to the back of their minds, willing to talk if the other initiated, but as none did, the topic lingered on their minds. Domesticity turned into early mourning.
Maybe this would be the last time I'd see him. They both think as Childe leaves for another mission, keenly aware of the dangers he loved to face head on. They do not speak those words at the door, instead giving each other a chaste kiss and a sad smile. They both understood.
One day, I won't have Childe by my side. Zhongli thinks one night, his fiance snoring away. Thinking like this was as if wishing an early death on someone, he scolds himself, but it's true. He opens his eyes, his face still pressed into Childe's neck, nuzzling into the warmth and smell of skin and cologne.
He doesn't want to mourn Childe, but here he was, already lamenting over lost time, even entwined in each other's embrace. He doesn't want this romance to be a doomed one, doesn't want it to feel like a tragedy, but in a way, thinking of their fleeting time together was already an acceptance of said reality.
Zhongli does not cry. His heart is so full of affection for Childe, what little space left filled by the fondness of Childe's reciprocation of that love. Yet it feels heavy and empty. It's such a strange cocktail of emotions he doesn't know how to address.
It makes it hard to sleep. Not because it weighs on his mind, but because he wants to savor every moment he has with Childe, even if he's asleep. He breathes in the minty scent of cologne and the undercurrent of sea salt from foreign seas. He'll miss this smell when it goes.
He already misses it, even while he breathes it in.
For Childe it's different. Reminders that Zhongli can't quite die aren't particularly obvious.
He can't tell if Zhongli shifts his appearance consciously to match the passing months. It's the greying hair and skin that ages just like a human’s, it doesn't make him any less beautiful. He suspects that it's unconscious, with how Zhongli frowns uncomprehendingly when he mentions the strands of grey hair nestled in his black ones.
His reminders come in those features, because he's occasionally reminded of Zhongli's agelessness (courtesy of his brain). It's in the way he seems to age, seems to change alongside him. He's suddenly reminded of his impermanence in this realm, soon to return to the earth.
In his line of work, Childe never thought he'd settle down. There was never any time, and people were afraid of him, for a while he reveled in that fact, his goals were set on world conquering and growing stronger. Romance was a wish of the past, Ajax's dream of a family with kids. He never thought he'd find it, nor did he think he'd enjoy it so much.
His romance with Zhongli was almost like what Ajax had imagined long ago, but he felt like it was different too. He still can't put it into words, he only knows that it’s something about expectations.
No one ever asked him the hard question of romance in a dangerous work environment. He was too young when he joined, and later, too powerful to be asked. Dating advice for a Harbinger? Just absurd.
He's never thought of his fleeting existence, not when he craved the challenge and behaved recklessly. Laughing it off when frozen hydro blades sliced the palms of his skin in the frigid air, they'd make good scars, he said. A challenge was all he craved, to prove his environment wrong, to prove himself strong, to prove that he wasn't the weak boy from before.
Now he sees the scars littering his body alongside Zhongli's flawless skin. He will die one day, he will not come back. But he isn't ready to lose this.
He thinks of a future when he has passed, Zhongli cooking only for one, settling into the dining table facing no one. The bed will still be warm for him with Liyue's hot weather and the blankets they had in the closet. He thinks of when Zhongli still comes home content, but there'd be no one to spend it with him. Home would still be warm, just a person empty.
It's not him he thinks about when he thinks about his eventual death. He knows it'll come sooner or later, death is particularly greedy with the souls they left to live on borrowed time.
Like all soldiers, he thinks of his family, who would still have enough funds to last a lifetime, just without another brother to send them presents. He thinks of the strange, almost family-like dynamic in the bank when he's not on Harbinger business, they would run the bank without him, they know how to move on when another of them dies.
Then, he thinks of Zhongli, whose life is already filled with mourning. Incense from his workplace is almost an extension of his scent. The million metre stares he has when they go on expeditions or outings out of the harbor. He's remembering something, remembering someone, it takes only a tug to pull him away from the past, but without him, he'd wallow in his memories until time loses all sense.
Their romance is fated to end. That's what the fairytales love to exclude.
While they're still together, Childe sometimes hopes that one day there'll be someone to guide Zhongli, friend or lover. He hopes that Zhongli will be well in the future, so much so that sometimes, he forgets about Zhongli's happiness with their relationship. He finds himself hoping that Zhongli has a bright future ahead, forgetting about the equally bright present he has at hand.
He presses a small peck on the top of Zhongli's sleeping head. Closing his eyes and dreaming of possible futures for his lover when he is gone.
It's this dynamic, where Zhongli misses what he has in his hands, and Childe forgets that he's in the present that causes their happiness together to become brittle.
While their domestic life is no less lovely and still filled with contentment, little moments spawn wry smiles and complicated expressions that make the air go heavy. They are still content being with each other, but sometimes one or both aren't quite present. Small gestures carry weight they aren't supposed to, they sit with that reality, not quite able to overcome the courage to talk about their situation.
Love then, was like two snowglobes, self-contained and snowy white pellets drifting in the globe. It is fragile and heavy, but still no less fulfilling. Soon, that metaphor will change again when they finally settle down enough to talk about the subject. But for now, it lingers over them, storm clouds waiting to fall.
______________
When they talk, it’s not because of an injury that breaks their fragile domesticity. Not because of something dramatic that forces them to confront reality. Simply: a slip of a tongue in their living room basked in sunlight.
“I’m going to miss this.”
It sounded like something Zhongli would say, after all, it was him who would live eons after Childe. But Zhongli was never that careless in his words, even in the slow mornings where everything was hazy from sleep, or in their frantic coupling, choking on spit.
The words were quiet, wistful. A fond, sad tilt sat on Childe’s features. It would have been easy for Zhongli to pretend that those words were never said, to deny the inevitability of death, but he knows the conversation was long overdue. They had work, however, and it would weigh on Childe too harshly if he were to bring it up over breakfast. So for that moment he pretends, smiling back at Childe as if he hadn’t heard a thing, already mulling how he’d bring it up later.
There was no easy way to bring it up. It was taboo to talk about death and misfortune in a relationship as happy as this one, but they have always defied the conventional: An inter-racial couple, a union between a mortal and immortal, a funeral worker and a harbinger of death and destruction.
“Childe,” Zhongli spoke after dinner, there was still content and warmth, especially in the way the man hums, turning his head slightly towards him as he continues to wash the dishes. Giving his attention even if his eyes were still set on the plates he was washing. “It’s time we have a conversation long overdue.”
Childe doesn’t respond with anxiety or upset, not worrying about their love in their relationship. They compromised a lot, meeting in the middle, it was expectedly hard, but sometimes easy to give into each other’s wants. He simply continues with his chores, just as Zhongli continues to wipe the dining table.
They settle into the living room once they finish their chores. He places his hand on Childe’s gently, as they always did in the privacy of their home.
“You will die one day.”
A factual statement with an equally flat tone.
Childe merely smiles.
“I will.”
It’s soft, but it’s not sad, it’s knowing. He’s come to terms with the idea. He doesn’t resent the death to come, he doesn’t resent the supposed lost time or opportunities he’ll miss, he doesn’t resent the troubled expression warring on Zhongli’s face.
“Will you miss me?” Childe asks, his voice gentle. He knows the answer, he’s sure of it.
“Of course I will.” He smooths a thumb over the scarred skin. “You are very dear to me, I do not wish to lose you.”
Truthfully, there was no need for those words, they both know how highly Zhongli thinks of Childe, just as they both know how highly Childe thinks of Zhongli. They don’t communicate only in words, but in touches too. They know it from the way they seek out each other’s embrace, its warmth and comfort, something they’d never seek from someone else, even if they’re both starved of it.
Childe holds his smile, placing another hand on his.
“Are you scared?”
He isn’t. They both know what awaits them going in.
It’s telling when Childe says, “I’m not either,” before Zhongli shakes his head or verbalises a response. They’re in sync, a simple gesture or expression could give away what the other was thinking. It used to scare Childe, not quite ready to be read so well by another, but he’s since mellowed out.
“I’m not scared of death,” He repeats, “I’m scared of what follows after.”
It’s exceedingly clear to Zhongli that he isn’t afraid of returning to the earth only to be reborn again. The pleasant smile and light tapping against the leatherback chair show no signs of anxiety or worry. He knows what’s to come and doesn’t fret over it.
Childe is, instead, scared for Zhongli.
What follows after death is mourning and heartbreak. They both know who Zhongli last grieved. Centuries of loneliness as the survivors of the war grew distant, growing increasingly reliant on their contractual responsibilities for order. Those whose services weren’t an immediate necessity like Cloud Retainer and Mountain Sharper enclosed themselves in their abodes, waiting for time to erode them.
“I’m scared that you’ll be lonely when I go.”
Childe is Zhongli’s anchor; Zhongli is Childe’s stability.
It’s always been Childe who nudges his hand when he gets caught up in memories, Childe who suggests that they eat out at Wanmin to socialise after a long week at work. It’s so easy for Zhongli to retreat to the warmth and comfort that home offers, so easy that he often forgets the world that moves on around them.
It’s also Childe who he shares his memories with, both the trivial and important. He listens and comments on his memories told like legends of old, but more importantly, he stops Zhongli from drifting too far.
His fiance is so selfless, even when he thinks of death, he thinks more for him than himself.
“I’m scared,” Zhongli finally speaks, “that I’ll miss you when you go.”
“You miss me now too,” Childe replies, privy to the thoughts on Zhongli’s mind.
They sit there in comfortable silence, time stretching further and further. Hours must have passed, their hands on each other’s before Childe says something again.
“I won’t fault you for missing me when I go. I only ask that you don’t linger on our time or my story.”
It should be too early for Childe to really pass any comments like this, he should be far too young to know how mourning and loss work. Yet somehow, he does.
Childe understands that it’s good to reflect on the past as long as he keeps moving towards the future. He understands that denying death’s inevitability is denying the world and the people around him. But more importantly for Zhongli, he understands that letting himself drift into memories would be losing himself to time.
It’s clear that this understanding is from experience, from Childe’s experience with the loss of Ajax. Zhongli is reminded of how lucky he is for his lover to be this open with him.
For Zhongli, the request feels deceptively simple. He is never one to make easy promises or contracts: Agreements have weight and meaning. Even for this untold promise, Childe wants Zhongli to keep, he’s not sure he can commit to its terms; Even a god like him cannot predict how he may change when the time comes.
“I’ll try.” He says instead, after long beats of silence.
“Then that’s enough.”
They are still grieving, so it seems. Grief is never a short or forgiving process. But now, they mourn the ‘could-be’s and future together, instead of alone. Zhongli, in the moment, misses the innocence Childe could have possessed had he not grown up too quickly, thinking of such wise words from a man only in his twenties. Likewise, Childe, in the moment, struggles not to think of Zhongli losing himself in a future without him.
They, fortunately, are each other’s anchors. Even as they drift in the possibilities, they remain partially in the present, in each other’s company. No less happy or unhappy as they were before.
Childe leans towards Zhongli, resting his head on his shoulder, surely an awkward position with the bulky armrest between them. Zhongli, too, places his head just atop of Childe's, his cheek pressing uncomfortably onto his head, hair tickling his nose.
Even in the fragility of their relationship hovering over their shoulders, they find solace in each other, comfort in the other’s presence.
Despite the uncomfortable position, it still feels perfect.