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It had been weeks? months? of endless fighting. The ebb and flow of battle as Childe feels himself wear down more and more against the All-Devouring Narwhal. The adrenaline is still singing in his veins, the voices of the abyss telling him to fight, for more. He is happy this fight is proving that he is growing stronger. Childe loves a challenge and any chance to grow, to push his limits.
Fontaine had proved to be an adventure like nothing else, from his false accusation to being imprisoned in Meropide. Childe had come to Fontaine due to the restless thrumming in his veins, the voices telling him to come. And now they are finally gone.
The thrill of the fight had long since worn off, and underneath it all was a deep, deep exhaustion.
He remembers the Traveler and the Iudex...Master Skirk...but everything is a little hazy and disjointed. The last thought on his mind is a yearning for home before everything blurs to black.
Childe feels like he is floating. It is almost like he is back in the depths of the Primordial Sea again, opening his eyes to the Narwhal swimming lazily above him. He does not want to witness another battle though, much less be locked in another constant fight to the death.
Take me home, he wishes.
The scene shifts and he is standing at the door to his childhood home.
His little siblings crowd around him, Teucer jumping up and down with his new gifts and Tonia doing a twirl in the new dress he had gotten her in Fontaine. Anthon barrages him with questions about his travels, and Childe leans down and ruffles his hair. They have grown taller since he's last seen them.
He has been gone for far too long.
Childe wanders further into the small house and is greeted with the warm smell of Mother's cooking. She turns and smiles, wiping her hands off on a towel before enveloping him in a hug. As warm as it is, it feels a little stiff, and Childe can not help but notice the streaks of grey and white now visible in Mother's ginger locks. Another reminder that he is not home to witness the changes in his family.
Childe is helping to set the table when he realizes there are not enough chairs. He will need to go grab an extra chair from upstairs for himself. He feels something in his chest tighten at the realization.
Dinner is lively. As it often tends to be with such a large family. There is an obvious avoidance of the topic of his work, and there is a tight-lipped smile on his mother's face whenever Childe regales Teucer with his toy-selling adventures. Father still hasn't acknowledged him or met his eyes, and he excuses himself early without so much of a word.
Childe loves his family, but this is not home.
Not anymore.
Not since he ceased to simply just be “Ajax” within the walls of their small house in the snowy backwaters of Morepesok. Not since he wandered into the small patch of woods behind the house in search of an adventure and fell through the cracks of the earth. Childe can't help but notice how Mother still avoids calling him by name. After all, he is no longer their precious little “Ajax”, luminous blue eyes that still have light reflected in them pleading for another story from their adventurer days.
His hand under the table bunches into a fist, nails digging into his skin painfully as he tries to keep smiling. To keep his breathing even as a pang rips through his chest at the realization.
I just want to go home.
The room Childe awakens to is ornately decorated and nicely furnished. Childe recognizes it as his quarters within Zapolyarny Palace. The bed he is tucked into feels too large for just him, too cold even with the warmth from the fire crackling in the hearth and the mountains of blankets piled on top of him.
He feels a dull ache throughout his whole body, a soreness and pain that sits just under the surface. Perhaps they have given him painkillers. It is hard to gather his thoughts and his mind feels scattered. The only lamp keeping the dark room alit suddenly feels a little too bright.
Childe tries to move his hand and realizes he is covered tightly from head to toe in bandages. His limbs do not respond the way he would like them to; they feel heavy as if they are made of lead.
Childe tries to turn as much as he can and thinks he sees His Majesty sitting next to his bed. But that is impossible. He must be imagining things. His Majesty would never personally tend to him when he is injured. He is just her weapon. Something to be used and wielded. A dull and cracked blade has no use to its wielder.
Within these walls, he is Tartaglia, the Vanguard. A tool of destruction for Her Majesty to wield in her war against the Heavens. He is respected for his fighting abilities and what he can provide. He is tolerated for his abyssal qualities because of the combative edge they can provide. But he is not loved.
No, this is not home.
He feels his eyes flutter shut just as he hears a gasp and voices start to fill the room.
The next time Childe opens his eyes he is sitting under a cherry blossom tree. The sun is bright but not overwhelming, and a slight breeze ruffles the blossoms on the tree causing pink petals to rain over them. A blonde head fills his field of vision as bright green eyes meet lightless cerulean, waving a hand in front of his face, "I thought I lost you for a moment there. Something on your mind? You've been awfully spacey today."
Childe turns and smiles at Thoma, his first friend, "Oh nothing really. I've just been thinking about home."
Childe gazes off into the distance, and he thinks if he squints he could make out the outline of Liyue Harbor at the end of the horizon. He shakes his head. He must be delusional. Liyue is not home. He had spent a little under a year there playing the role of the charming diplomat of the Northland Bank, yet why did it so often occupy his thoughts when he least expected it? There is no way he could see the harbor from here, a whole ocean away in Inazuma.
"Feeling a little homesick? It has been a while since you've been back hasn't it?" Thoma says as he pats him on the shoulder and settles down next to him underneath the tree, "Here, I brought some onigiri for us to eat! Maybe some food will help cheer you up."
Thoma pulls out a small basket and uncovers the riceballs inside, handing him one before he starts eating his. "Maybe we could go fishing later! That always cheers you up. There's a nice fishing spot I found recently that I think you'd love-"
Childe listens as Thoma chatters on, filling the silence with his voice as he talks about everything from new recipes he’s tried to Kamisato Ayato’s latest exploits in the kitchen. The onigiri is delicious, as he knew to expect from the housekeeper. It is warm as it sits half-eaten in his hand, but some part of him still feels cold despite the amicable weather and company. He shivers.
"Thoma."
Thoma stops and whirls to face him. He smiles. "Yes?"
"What is home?"
"Pardon?"
"I-," Childe pauses as he tries to put the deep yearning in his chest into words, "I miss home. But...I do not think the home I yearn for is the one I grew up in. Nor is it the palace of the goddess I serve. But where else could it be?"
Thoma's eyes are filled with an emotion Childe can not explain, but the housekeeper leans in closer and wraps Childe in a hug. "Home does not have to be where you grew up. Home can be a place. But it can also be a person. It is somewhere where you feel safe. A place where you can be the worst version of yourself and still be loved. A place where you feel like you belong underneath all the masks you wear during the day.”
Thoma pauses, his hands starting to rub soothing circles into Childe’s back, gently prying the half-eaten onigiri out of his hands to put back into the picnic basket. “My home is here in Inazuma, serving the Kamisato’s. Wherever they choose to go I will follow. It is not out of a sense of duty or obligation, but because being with them makes me happy. Seeing them smile and thrive and helping them in whatever way I can brightens my day. I do not know where your heart has docked and chosen to build a home, but I sincerely hope that wherever or whoever it is, will love and appreciate you, my dear friend. You have so much love to give, so it is only right that you receive the same in return.”
Childe does not feel like a weapon, a monster of the abyss, deserves to be loved in return. It is only right he does everything he can to make the people he cherishes happy, for he is covered in red – the blood of all of those he has slain. Some days he scrubs and scrubs but the blood just does not leave his hands, seeming to have become a part of him just like the abyssal itch thrumming in his veins, asking for more violence, more destruction, more blood to feed its endless hunger.
Childe feels wetness tugging at his eyes again, a lump forming in his throat that he tries to swallow down as he whispers softly into the housekeeper's shoulder, fingers digging into the red fabric of Thoma’s jacket, "I want to go home, but I don't know where that is."
I don’t know if a monster deserves to have a home.
When Childe opens his eyes again he is standing in a familiar harbor. He is standing in front of a stall when he registers a familiar voice drone on about the special glaze used on the antique vase on display. He looks around and sees people milling about. But there are no whispers like he remembers, dirty looks directed at him for being the harbinger that tried to destroy their harbor. There are no mothers quietly leading their children away when they point at his bright ginger hair, shushing them that he is a dangerous person who will come to eat bad kids in their sleep.
The shopkeeper flashes him a small smile when he meets his eyes as if they are both in on some inside joke. The shopkeeper makes a small motion towards the price tag associated with the vase the deep voice is still continuing on about. Ah, does he expect him to pay? Right, of course…because he is with the owner of the beautiful, deep voice. Their usual song and dance that he remembers fondly even as his mora pouch grew lighter with each passing day. The deep voice pauses in its ministrations as he feels a warm gloved hand on his shoulder, "Childe? Are you okay?"
Childe turns and faces the owner of the voice and the striking amber eyes he had spent countless hours admiring during the summer he had wished would never end.
Zhongli.
There is a weird pang in his chest accompanied by a fuzzy warmth as golden eyes continue to study him. Zhongli tilts his head to the side (cute, Childe thinks) before he furrows his brows when Childe does not respond. A gloved hand is on his forehead and Zhongli is leaning in. Too close , Childe thinks as he can make out the long lashes that adorn those striking amber eyes lined in red. "You do not seem to have a fever. Did you not sleep well last night? You look a little pale. Maybe we should order some takeout and go home. We can always come back to shop another day."
Home. That one word shocks Childe out of his stupor as his blue eyes widen.
"Home?"
"Yes, let's go get something from Wanmin." Zhongli nods at the shopkeeper in thanks who looks disappointed that a purchase was not made. He gently guides Childe away from the stall they had been standing at (Childe does not miss the last look Zhongli gives to the vase he had been talking about earlier) and falls into step next to Childe as they tread down a familiar path. He feels a warm hand envelop his and his fingers intertwining. Childe looks down at their joined hands and feels his heart skip.
"You have been awfully quiet ever since you returned from Fontaine. Did something happen Baobei?"
Childe shakes his head and then gives the hand in his a tentative squeeze. The other hand squeezes back and Zhongli gives him a small smile. It is just the smallest upturn of his lips, but Childe feels the warm fuzzy feeling return in his chest.
Childe feels like he is in a daze as he is led through the harbor and then back to Zhongli's apartment. What greets him inside is a sight he does not expect. He recognizes the shelves crammed full of artifacts and antiques that Zhongli likes to hoard (many purchased with Childe’s mora), the liyuen style of furnishings throughout the space, but there are items he recognizes as distinctly his scattered throughout as well -- his favorite narwhal plushie sitting on the floor, his thick harbinger coat strewn over the couch, his favorite tea blends and some honey sitting on the shelf next to the tea leaves Zhongli likes to brew. He stands frozen in the doorway as he takes the sight in.
This was something he had only ever dreamed about. Zhongli and he might still exchange the occasional friendly letter, but they certainly were not living together. They are just acquaintances. They both had parts in Zhongli's retirement plan, and he had unknowingly played his role well. That summer of too-close touches, words unsaid as they talked about every subject under the sun, hours upon hours spent wandering the harbor and Liyue’s countryside was just that, another part of the plan. But why? Why was he here? Why was Zhongli gazing at him like that? Why was Zhongli looking at him with so much warmth in his eyes as if he was his whole world?
Zhongli is tugging on his hand, which is still intertwined in his, "Baobei, are you sure you're okay?"
There is a pain in Childe's chest, and soon Zhongli is hovering in front of him, amber eyes filled with concern and so, so much warmth as gloved hands wipe away at something in his eyes. Is he crying? He is not sure. Warm arms are around his, takeout dropped on the ground forgotten, as they wrapped tightly around his middle. Childe feels his body melt into the embrace as a hand cards through his unruly hair. He inhales Zhongli's distinct scent of silk flowers, warm earth, and incense, and it feels like something heavy has been lifted off of his shoulders.
"Baobei, let's get you to bed. It's been a long day, hasn't it? I’m sorry for not noticing earlier."
The world seems to tilt sideways in an instant as he is swept up into Zhongli’s arms in a bridal carry, “X-Xiansheng?! What-“
Childe had not realized Zhongli had already undid the buckles of his boots and removed his jacket and scarf. His harbinger mask has been discarded as well. Childe clings onto Zhongli as he is carried further into the house and set down on a bed. Zhongli presses a soft kiss to his forehead and brushes his bangs back from his eyes, his hand lingering on the sides of his face. Childe instinctively leans into the touch, eyes closing, and Zhongli hums in contentment.
“I’ll go fetch a couple of things. Wait for me Baobei.”
Zhongli disappears from view and Childe can’t help but feel cold. A small whimper escapes his lips. He wishes to feel the warmth of silk flowers and warm earth around him again. The whole room smells like Zhongli but it is not enough. He is greedy and wants more. He wants Zhongli’s arms around him again, treating him like he is something precious, something he can only dream about.
The god would never indulge him like this in real life; they are two individuals on paths that will never truly cross again, but that is fine. If this dream Zhongli (and it must be a dream, is it not?) will spoil him with his warmth and kindness, who is Childe to refuse?
A soft plush is being pushed into his arms that Childe squeezes instinctively, eyes still squeezed shut. He doesn’t want this dream to end.
“There, relax, Baobei.” The warm hand cards through his locks again so gently that Childe almost wants to cry again. He sniffles and blinks back the tears that threaten to fall by smushing his face into the narwhal plush. Meanwhile, Zhongli gently guides him into a soft night robe and under the warm covers, all the while whispering warm praises. Childe feels another kiss being pressed into the back of his head as warm arms encircle his waist again from behind, Zhongli’s warm breath tickling his ear as he nuzzles into him from behind. His body is pressed against his back, a warm shell protecting him as he whispers soft nothings.
“You’re safe now. Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”
“I love you.”
When Childe opens his eyes again he is no longer in bed with the retired god. Instead, he is sitting at their usual lunch table at Wanmin, the liyuen sun shining bright above them. Childe fans his face with his hands and he hears a chuckle from across the table.
Zhongli smiles as he pours Childe a cup of tea and pushes it across the table towards him. “Drink, it’ll help with the heat.”
Warm golden eyes watch him as he downs his tea. “Is it to your liking?”
Childe nods and the god smiles. Childe stares at the god, trying to puzzle out why the god is looking at him like that. Filled with so much warmth and affection that a weapon like him does not deserve. It makes his heart ache and Childe desperately wishes for the god to stop looking at him with his beautiful cor lapis eyes. How could a monster of the abyss be looked at so reverently by a god?
Childe had not even noticed when the food had arrived, but Zhongli is already picking mountains of fragrant pork, noodles, and various vegetables into his bowl of fluffy white rice.
“You are making that face again,” Zhongli says as he sets Childe’s bowl down in front of him. Why does the god look so worried? With that cute furrow in his brow, he leans in closer.
A hand cups his face, and Childe splutters moving to back away. “Xiansheng, we’re in public-“
“I am more worried about your health than what the harbor thinks-”
Childe gets up from the table quickly shaking his head, “I’m fine! Really. I-I need to get going.”
Childe spends his day wandering the area right outside the harbor, but even the adrenaline of a fight does not soothe the deep ache in his heart. The longing for warm golden eyes that treat him like he’s something precious.
Childe blinks and he is once again in the entryway to Zhongli’s apartment, strong arms instantly circling him, “You’re back. Did the fresh air help? Was work at the bank busy today?”
Childe is frozen before slowly moving to return the embrace. “Xiansheng…”
“Yes, Ajax?” Childe’s eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat. It feels weird to hear the name on Zhongli’s lips, but maybe that is because no one has said that name for so long without a hint of fear and disgust in it. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they sat on the balcony of Childe’s apartment in the harbor as he had whispered the name into Zhongli’s ear, lips a bit too loose after too many bottles of alcohol.
In Zhongli’s arms that ache in his chest seems to fade away, replaced by something so, so warm. Childe wishes he could hold onto it forever.
“Nothing,” Childe murmurs as he nuzzles into Zhongli, running a hand through the long locks of Zhongli’s ponytail, admiring how the brown fades into amber at the tips. “If only the real Xiansheng would love me like this…”
Childe is standing in the middle of an endless plane of blue and purple. It is familiar. He remembers fighting here. The voices of the abyss sing in the back of his mind, asking for more.
He does not wish to be here.
Tartaglia may want more, but Ajax does not.
He is covered in blood and scratches and it is a bit hard to breathe. His legs struggle to sustain his weight as the pain coursing through his body takes over his mind.
“I just…I want to go home…” Childe whispers, his voice hoarse. The world is blurry and he feels something wet trickle down his face.
“Then let’s go home.” Strong arms catch him as his legs finally give out underneath him, a kiss pressed to his face trying to take away the tears. Silk flowers and incense, the warm earth after a sunny day, solid and steady and warm and everything Ajax wishes for that he does not think he can have.
Home can be a place. But it can also be a person .
Hazy unfocused blue eyes meet brilliant cor lapis, and Childe wishes for forgiveness from the heavens. For how could someone like him who serves another god, someone who only lives to wreak havoc on the battlefield, someone tainted by the deepest depths of Tevyat, wish for his home to be in the arms of the strongest and oldest god?
Home is somewhere you feel safe.
Childe is wrapped tightly in bandages and warm blankets as he watches Zhongli lean in for another kiss on his forehead. Everything hurts, but the moment Zhongli’s lips touch his feverish skin, it is like the pain disappears. Zhongli smiles as he brushes a stray lock of Childe’s orange curls away from his face. Childe wishes he could brand this image into his memories forever. Zhongli is saying something but Childe can not hear. Zhongli’s brows furrow as he says something else. There is another emotion lurking in the corner of Zhongli’s eyes that Childe could almost mistake for fear. Panic. But that can not be the case. For Zhongli is a god. Gods do not fear. Childe just blinks and reaches for Zhongli’s hand, placing it on the side of his face. He nuzzles into it and hums in content.
It is a place where you can be the worst version of yourself and still be loved.
There is no way Zhongli would love an injured weapon. Why would the oldest of the gods be fascinated by a weapon that can not do its job? Someone who cries too easily even now and cares too deeply, someone who hides their true feelings behind a smile. Someone who is too scared to reach for the things they really want in fear of losing it all.
Childe closes his eyes.
“I wish you could be my home, Xiansheng.”
Childe opens his eyes to a dull throb throughout his entire body. His mouth is dry and he feels like he had been run over by a herd of geovishaps, but strangely, he feels okay. The room is too bright, and he wishes for nothing more than to close his eyes and be met with beautiful gold again, but a warmth clinging tightly to him makes him pause.
There are arms wrapped around his, black with gold geometric patterns running down them that seem to pulse with a low glow. They are trembling as a face noses at the crook of his neck, amber-tipped hair tickling his face.
“Childe? Childe! Thank Celestia, you’re awake.”
Childe would recognize that deep velvety voice anywhere. It is ingrained into his memories, even if the panic and relief lacing them are unfamiliar to him. Childe tries to turn to face the body wrapped around his, but a sharp pain shoots through his torso and he lets out a whimper instead.
“It’s me. Zhongli. I-I didn’t know if that worked. Your elemental signature fell off the grid and then I heard you were in Snezhnaya so I hurried here-the Tsaritsa tried to kick me out but I insisted-I haven’t dreamwalked in centuries-“
It does not feel real to have Zhongli here in his quarters in Snezhnaya. Maybe Childe has finally gone mad. He wouldn’t mind seeing Zhongli in his delusions for the rest of his life. Childe musters all his energy to shakily cover a golden hand with his heavily bandaged one, giving it a small pat. The words tumbling out of the god’s mouth stop and Childe tugs at Zhongli’s hand, trying to get him to turn so he can see those beautiful cor lapis eyes he had spent so long dreaming about.
There is some shuffling as Zhongli gets the message, carefully extracting himself and reorienting them so they are facing each other, careful of Childe’s injuries as if he might break at any moment.
The god’s hair is disheveled, hair loose of its usual ponytail, amber tips glowing in tandem with the marks on his arms and the crown of cor lapis antlers on his head; there is a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, his hands are shaking as they brush back a lock of orange curls that have grown too long since Childe has been asleep. His shirt is wrinkled like he has slept in it (which he probably has given the words coming out of the god’s mouth earlier), the collar unbuttoned, and his signature brown coat and vest have been tossed to the wayside. There is a brown scaly tail tufted in amber fur curled around them protectively and Childe drinks the sight in, how beautiful and godly Zhongli looks before him right now. But even with his adeptal traits on full display, the shake in Zhongli’s usually calm voice and worry-filled eyes are nothing like that of the renowned warrior god.
In front of Childe now is simply Zhongli.
Home is a place where you feel like you belong underneath all the masks you wear during the day.
Childe smiles, it takes all the energy he has to make the slow upturn of his lips, “Beautiful” he breathes and he sees Zhongli still, eyes shining with unshed tears, golden just like the god they belong to. Nothing from the depths of Childe’s mind could have conjured the image of Zhongli before him right now. How painfully human he looks as he clings tightly (but carefully) onto Childe even while looking nothing short of his godly self. There is no world in which Childe could have imagined himself to be the cause of Zhongli’s tears and distress past his normally calm facade. Childe finds himself leaning in for a kiss. It is slow and reverent and leaves the two of them gasping for breath.
“I love you so much, Ajax. I was so scared I’d lose you. That-that you’d never wake-You were asleep for weeks and I-the thought of you-“ Zhongli shakes his head, tears freely flowing down his face. “It does not matter, you are safe now, awake-I am sorry if I had overstepped-“
Childe shushes the god with another kiss, there is a burn in his chest, maybe he is over-exerting his bedridden self, but that is fine. There has been so much that has gone unsaid, but there is relief when his mind processes the words spoken to him.
Love.
Zhongli loves him.
It felt like another dream if it weren’t for the aches in his body that felt so very real.
“I love you too Zhongli.” They pull away from the kiss, and Childe smiles. Zhongli pulls him into his embrace and Childe idly traces a line of geo down Zhongli’s arms. The god lets out a small purr of content
Thank you for being the best thing that ever happened to me.
Thank you for being my home.
“I’m home, Zhongli.”
Zhongli is his home.
It is not a place, but a person.
Here with Zhongli, he feels safe. Loved.
Here in Zhongli’s arms, he is not the Tsaritsa’s vanguard Tartaglia or the charming diplomat Childe. He is not just the little boy Ajax who dreamed of heroes and adventures either. Because, in truth, the masks Childe wears are not just masks, but also a part of him. All of these parts of him want to be loved, to be accepted. The good and the bad and the ugly.
He does not know if he deserves a god’s love. But maybe it is okay to be selfish and keep holding onto something, someone, that makes him happy. For if they chose to stay by him, to love him, who is he to push them away?
There is a lot to process. He has been asleep for what Zhongli says has been weeks; there is still a part of him that thinks himself unlovable, the slimy voice of the abyss telling him he needs to fight and prove his worth. Zhongli looks so exhausted from his adeptal dream travels (were those dreams real then?) but everything feels like it will be okay. They will take things one step at a time.
They can be a safe harbor for each other to return to. There will always be a home waiting for them in each other’s arms.
“Welcome home, Ajax.”