he thought childe was being cruel, yes, but not for the sake of it. too often had he swallowed words to blurt them out then, too often had he sacrificed for something greater, something more important, and weighed matters against one another to find the better solution. it wasn’t different then, either; he could not impose himself onto the other, could not sweep him off his feet no matter how much he wanted to.
no matter how often he dreamt of the ways he could kiss him or the things he could say to or hear from him, no matter how unfair it sometimes seemed, both that he was ready to be patient and to know that their time, ultimately, was still limited. he would die one day, unless he achieved divinity, but much as he held him in his heart, he did not see childe wanting or achieving it. he would see him leave, one day, too, would hear him say his farewells and would worry every day, uncertain of whether he was alive, where he was, how he was, if he changed. their time was painfully limited, squeezed into such a small frame, and yet he knew he had to wait, and every day that passed was simply a day he didn’t have him, a day less out of his so very numbered ones.
he wanted to think it enough to be with him like this, that it was enough to hold his hand and watch him glance at him with all the love he so obviously held for him, but his thoughts kept dragging them closer, kept spinning images of laying chest to chest in the warm sunlight, of waking up in each other’s arms, of getting to kiss him in-between softly spoken words in their own little corner of liyue, of simply not feeling like he couldn’t tell whether he would manage to be with him before he died or not, of whether he ought to simply try and draw him towards him more, whether this actually had any chance with the way it was going. time would tell, but time was killing the man he was letting into his heart, too. he watched him every so often, but took time to glance away sometimes, to ease the strain on himself just a little. one day, that pin he wore might be the only thing he would have left of him, and it might remind him of all the opportunities he missed. he smiled, soft and, almost to his own surprise, convincingly. ❝ there is no need to worry, ❞ he assured. ❝ we have spoken on this before, and i haven’t forgotten what was said, despite my old age. ❞
Sometimes at night, he laid on his bed thinking of Zhongli. It was innocent thoughts before sleep claimed him, of his soft smile and warm voice, of hushed voices quietly laughing on Liyue’s roofs, of fingers slipping against one another, clumsily reaching for the bottle of wine and lingering against his before grasping the bottle’s neck. He saw him happy in the sunlight, serene and bathed in the moonlight. How often had he looked at him with all the love and longing in his eyes and saw the same mirroring inside Zhongli? He knew what he had to do and knew he needed his resolve to be steadfast, as was the element the former archon wielded but each time he saw him, it chipped away.
At nights all his thoughts amplified. He saw them tangled together, he saw them curled against one another, found hands running along bare skin, voices whispering their names. When he would wake, his face would be flushed in a deep, crimson red and his skin would be warm and blood rushing and it was good that he had a habit of waking up earlier than necessary as the long baths he took then helped him clear his head. He thought of different scenarios, too, of living a peaceful life where Childe wasn’t a harbinger and Zhongli wasn’t a god and they grew old together in a small hut by a frozen lake, huddled together by the warm fireplace and in each other’s arms and out of all his daydreams, that one broke his heart the most. For Childe will grow old and frail and will need the warm embrace of his lover to remain warm but Zhongli will forever be youthful, strong, bright like the orange lapis he adored so, unchanged like the many mountains that stood erect in the land even he had come to adore.
That is to say, if he doesn’t die of his own foolishness first.
He wanted to tell him these things worried him, He wanted him to know it was one of the reasons why he held back, too, because he wanted to spare him that bout of pain specifically. But he thought of an old saying, of a quote he saw written somewhere when he was young, long before the small piece of the abyss has made its home in his heart that it was better to love and lose than to not love at all. And if Childe could give him even a sliver of happiness, than he would leave a mark on the world bigger than any other he could create. ❛ Could you stop worrying? ❜ He asked with that in mind, for his love was soft and his love was kind and his love deserved to have the same kindness returned to him. He grinned at him as the waiter brought them their wine and the glasses, filled them with the tempting, fruity liquid and he wasn’t sure whether he wouldn’t do something foolish under its influence that night. Perhaps he ought to take it slow. ❛ Haha, I know your answer already, so you don’t have to say it. But here-- ❜ he handed him his glass and took his own, raising it towards him with the rim slightly tipped. ❛ To us, yes? ❜