Archive of Our Own

Day 1

7:00 a.m.

-

The first thing Mister Zhongli asks him is, "do you mind?"

Ajax shrugs and pulls the folding table between them, the hinges getting stuck twice before he could completely straighten it out. The varnish has started to rub off at certain spots, exposing the otherwise expensive dark wood underneath. Mister Zhongli thanks him with a subdued smile.

The compartment is small. It's clean, but rust peeks out of the fresh paint. The seats are due for a reupholster, with faded leather and small rips, a stray spring poking Ajax at every sudden movement.

They were lucky to have bought tickets at just the right time. They're seated in the last compartment, only two of them instead of four, which makes the nonexistent space in this enclosed room a tiny bit better.

"Most people do not travel by this train anymore," Mister Zhongli observes, settling on the seat in front of Ajax.

Ajax hums in agreement.

"Younger people like yourself even more so."

Mister Zhongli carefully places a thick leather binder on the table, flipping through pages of a document Ajax cannot read. It looks important, whatever it is; formal-looking red seals and all.

It makes sense. Mister Zhongli had come in with the nicest brown coat Ajax has ever seen, leather shoes shined to perfection, long hair neat and sleek. No one would have expected him to bumble around such an old train with anything but important-looking papers in hand.

Ajax is about to look out the window, to distract himself from the silence—when Mister Zhongli looks up at him with eyebrows raised.

"Well?"

Oh. He's waiting for a response.

"Yeah," Ajax says. "I'm sorry. My Teyvatian is terrible."

Even saying that makes him flinch. He needed to think about each word as he says them, his lack of confidence transparent. His Snezhnayan accent is so thick that he's not even sure if he got that across.

Mister Zhongli nods. Ajax does not miss the way he seems to be thinking to himself, as if making adjustments in his mind.

Then, his next words are simpler; spoken more directly. "You're doing fine."

It feels a little pathetic, but Ajax is relieved the next few days won't be too terrible. He'd been prepared to pretend to not exist in this compartment, say can you please let me through when he needs to go to the bathroom. But Mister Zhongli seems nice, and knows how to navigate small talk with strangers like him.

"Thank you," Ajax says.

11:15 a.m.

-

The Zapolyarny Express holds an omnipresence over Snezhnaya. If Ajax can't see it, he can hear it. If he can't hear it, he can smell the ashy smoke it leaves in its wake. Anyone he's seen getting on it has never returned.

It used to be a symbol of Snezhnayan opulence, a remnant of a silent war that went on far too long, but things aren't the same after forty years. Even with the window closed, Ajax cannot escape the sound of a moving train. It's a strange cacophony of a million metal pieces moving and bumping against each other, shrill whistles at every stop, the loud gust of wind as they speed past steep cliffs. The train is so old that it doesn't have heating, so Ajax pulls his coat tighter around himself and bounces his foot.

"I was planning to have brunch in the dining car," Mister Zhongli says. "Do you wish to join me?"

Ajax takes too long to respond, and it's not because he doesn't know the Teyvatian for yes.

Mister Zhongli misreads his hesitation, and says, "I'm paying."

The dining car is the best maintained section of the entire train, with polished chairs and exuberant decor. Everything looks old; but in a way expensive heirlooms are visibly old. Even the staff's uniforms feel like they're from a different time, recognizably vintage, but simple enough to not look so out-of-style.

Most of their passengers are older, so it makes sense. Ajax can almost imagine himself as a young socialite from forty years ago, boarding the new luxury train just to say he's been on it.

"They've changed the recipe, I see," Mister Zhongli says, which reveals more than Ajax expects.

As most things riding on their former glory, everything at the Zapolyarny Express is more expensive than it needs to be. Ajax is quite sure his company-provided travel fund is enough to cover the costs, but it's the principle of the thing. No decent Snezhnayan would pay this much for regular local food, regardless of how good it actually is.

Unlike Ajax, though, Mister Zhongli doesn't have to imagine being a rich socialite. Without his coat, he's in a rather impressive suit jacket, lined and pressed to perfection. Dry-clean only. When he passes the salt over the table, Ajax catches a whiff of glaze lilies and bergamot.

"I travel very often for work. If that's what you're wondering," Mister Zhongli explains.

"How often?"

"Once every two or three months. What about you, Ajax? Will you be going all the way to Liyue?"

He should be. But that's a complicated response that requires a lot of explaining; Mister Zhongli is only asking because he's polite.

So he says yes. "I'm set to work at the Snezhnayan bank," Ajax says. "I just graduated."

"You'll be there long term?"

Ajax nods, moving his food around. "Contract is three years."

Mister Zhongli looks up at him again, as if privy to Ajax's mind going places he really wishes it won't.

He has these observant eyes, for the lack of a better descriptor. Most people who make small talk don't really look at you too long, nor do they think too deeply about the things being said. But Mister Zhongli seems to mull over every small thing, endeavors to offer something substantial, tries to discover something about Ajax with every question asked.

Whatever it is that Mister Zhongli discovered, though, he doesn't mention it. "I'm sure you'll enjoy Liyue," he says. "There's much to see."

That's probably true. For someone who used to think his university class had way too many people, going to one the biggest cities in the continent will be interesting for a while.

He just wishes that the impending newness of everything isn't as intimidating as it seems right now.

7:12 p.m.

-

The scenery ceases to feature small cities, bleeding into copses of trees, white snow, and gray mountainsides. They'd passed by a few stops, but the landscape had been far too cold and barren to be worth freezing their ears over. Ajax does have three books, but each attempt to read is disturbed by Ajax suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the sounds of the train.

Mister Zhongli is clearly more well-prepared than he is, sorting papers and signing them without trouble. His posture doesn't break even as this tin can of a train rattles around, long hair perfectly gathered into a low ponytail, not a single fold or crumple on his deep brown cloak. He writes in smooth lines even as the table constantly moves, knows exactly when his pen is about to roll off the table and catches it before it does.

Observing him is oddly soothing. Ajax makes the mistake of using that to pass the time, because Mister Zhongli catches him red-handed.

"Bored?" Mister Zhongli smiles. Though faint, it changes his entire face; less severe, more kind.

Ajax furiously blinks and looks away. "Sorry."

"Have you been in the lounge before?"

Obviously not, but asking before concluding is the polite thing to do.

When Ajax shakes his head, Mister Zhongli closes his notebooks and puts them away. "I'm in need of a break," he says. "I was hoping you'd join me."

It's mostly silent, save for low whispers among family and friends, some with lit cigars held in hands casually perched on their knees. Most of them are looking outwards, to the bland, repetitive landscape; made more interesting by the cocktail glasses they're nursing.

Compared to the dining car, the lounge is a little worse for wear. The royal blue carpet is very slightly frayed, varnish on the wooden accents has rubbed off, and the leathers look outdated—but everything's clean. Two-seater lounge chairs line the sides, each one separated by armrests with ash trays bolted to them.

"Ah, there's a free seat," Mister Zhongli says, leading Ajax to the two-seater furthest from the entry-point. He lets Ajax sit first, then follows after him.

The seats are smaller than they look. It's not as if they're on top of each other, but Mister Zhongli's shoulder is solidly pressed up against him, long ponytail getting on Ajax's cheek as they readjust. Ajax crosses his legs to politely give him space, but Mister Zhongli is the type to spread his legs as wide as he can when he sits down.

Ajax huffs; amused more than anything. When Mister Zhongli turns to him, eyebrows raised in wonder, Ajax shakes his head and looks away.

Mister Zhongli reaches inside his coat pocket and procures a copper-plated case and a cigar cutter. "Do you mind?"

There is no point asking Ajax for permission, considering the smoke already swirling around them. Ajax humors him and tells him it's alright.

"Thank you." Mister Zhongli takes his terrifyingly sharp cigar cutter and quickly but accurately makes a punch cut on one end. The other end is gold-tipped, as one does. "What was your undergrad, Ajax?"

"Business Management."

He gets what is perhaps the most subtle reaction he's ever gotten, but the reaction is always the same—Mister Zhongli looks like he's anticipating a punchline or correction.

"Does it not fit me?" Ajax laughs.

"Apologies, that is not how I wanted to come across. You seem like someone who'd be in the humanities," Mister Zhongli says. He pauses, as if thinking his words over again, then quickly adds, "though I suppose that is also an uninformed assumption."

Ajax looks down, tracing the irregular line of stitches along the cuff of his coat; Mama's endearing attempt at resizing a sleeve he'd outgrown. "It's fine. You're half right," he says. "I like literature and history, but reading on my own is enough."

"You always wanted to enroll in Business Management?"

"My godmother offered me a job before I was even out of secondary school. At the bank, I mean."

Mister Zhongli nods, gold-tipped cigar elegantly tucked between two fingers, the faint smell surprisingly not repulsive.

Ajax doesn't know why anyone would be so interested in the things he thinks about. They're neither exciting nor controversial. Especially not Mister Zhongli, in his perfectly-tailored suit and heavy wool coat, who looks like he has more substantial topics to worry about.

"That's generous of her," Mister Zhongli says.

"I know. I'd done what my older siblings weren't given the chance to," Ajax sighs. "What about you, Mister Zhongli?"

"Me?"

"What job requires you to be in Snezhnaya very often?"

"I work in government," Mister Zhongli says.

"For diplomacy?"

There's hesitation, but it dissolves as quickly as it appears. Mister Zhongli draws on his cigar, releasing a thin line of silver smoke in the air. "Something like that," he says. "Though I suppose my work is more akin to making and passing along documents."

That's like when rich people say they're "comfortable." Ajax wonders whether Mister Zhongli is someone he should even be talking to—if he's being too casual to someone who begets more respect than he's treating him right now—but that thought is squashed before he could dwell on it too long.

"The sun will set in an hour or so," Mister Zhongli says. "I should order something to drink while we wait."

8:30 p.m.

-

Ajax can't decide whether this morning happened today or a year ago.

His departure had been a whole thing—from folding his clothes the night before to the last minute rush to get Mama's small packet of snacks to fit in the compartments of his hand-me-down suitcase. He hadn't allowed his family to walk him to the station, either, so he mostly wiped tears on the front yard of his childhood home.

This is not the time for thoughts like that. He is in the middle of a posh dining car, sipping on a fancy water goblet he doesn't know how to hold. Mister Zhongli smiles up at him as he narrates a hilarious interaction with a shop-owner in Sumeru.

"Something on your mind, Ajax?"

A lot. There's a lot on his mind.

"No, sorry," he says. "Can we ask for more ice?"

10:30 p.m.

-

"Looks like we each get nice beds," Ajax says.

There's not much sightseeing to be done when it's this dark, so porters start to come in, close the blinds, and pull down the upper sleeping berths. This compartment seats four but only two can sleep in it; which is odd, though Ajax supposes there's not much that can be done about train beds forty years ago.

"Do you mind taking the upper berth?" Mister Zhongli says, gesturing at the nicer, more private bed the porter is fixing up. "If you're comfortable with it."

"Sure," Ajax says. "I don't mind either, though."

Mister Zhongli shakes his head. "I appreciate it. I still need to do some work," he says. "To catch up."

"I'll wash up first, then," Ajax says, gathering his toiletries.

When he returns, Mister Zhongli's bed is still not set up, his sheets and provided pillows carefully stacked to one side as he continues his work on the foldable desk. Ajax considers taking his seat across from Mister Zhongli again, but he catches himself and decides against it.

He clambers up the berth, carrying the weight of his coat and layers and all, and inelegantly swings himself over. The hinges miraculously do not break.

"I can turn off the main light," Mister Zhongli offers.

"It's fine. I shared a room with a fourteen-year-old night owl. I'm used to it."

"Should a fourteen-year-old even stay up so late?"

Ajax snorts.

Unfortunately, Anthon will now have to room with Teucer, who can't sleep with the lights on. But that's something either Mama has to deal with or Ajax will have to resolve through letters. At least Tonia finally gets her own room.

"He just reads until midnight," Ajax says. "Better than sneaking off to who knows where."

"I could not blame a young man for having passions, I suppose," Mister Zhongli says.

On the berth, Ajax can no longer see him. The only way he knows Mister Zhongli is still in the compartment are the sounds of shuffling and scribbling. It's monotonous, repetitive, and Ajax finds he likes the sound of it better than the train's.

When Ajax doesn't respond for a while, Mister Zhongli says, "goodnight, Ajax."

Day 2

7:22 a.m.

-

"We're close to a stop," Mister Zhongli says. "A better one."

By "better," he means the last one had been in the middle of nowhere, with a singular store selling only fuel and tools. Mister Zhongli hadn't even bothered to look outside the window for that one.

"Good morning," Ajax says, nearly face-planting in his struggle to get down the berth. "What's there to see?"

Unlike him, Mister Zhongli looks like he's ready for a fancy brunch somewhere expensive, already cleaned up and in different clothes from the day before. There is not a hint of him staying up late, nor is there any indication that he'd gone through a stack of documents as thick as a book that takes Ajax three days to read.

There is no way Mister Zhongli dresses this impeccably for train rides. Not in this old, faded, and rusty thing. The only logical explanation would be that he always dresses like this.

"Keychains," Mister Zhongli says. "And stuffed animals."

"I'd rather buy something I can't make myself." As soon as he plops down, bleary-eyed, Mister Zhongli slides a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "Oh. You didn't have to."

"Might as well," Mister Zhongli says. "You were asleep when the crew asked if we wanted anything."

Ajax's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. "The crew came here?"

"They know their regulars," Mister Zhongli says coolly, as if it's the most normal thing in the world. The restaurant crew never deliver food and coffee outside of their dining car.

Ajax downs the rest of his coffee in one go, then stands. He pulls out his suitcase from under his seat, taking out pieces of clothing at random. "Looks like I do need to get something from the stop."

"What do you need?"

He considers lying. Because who tells a stranger they don't have enough socks for the rest of the trip? But that's such a silly thing to lie about, so Ajax tells Mister Zhongli.

"Porters will let you get your things from the baggage cars," Mister Zhongli says.

"I don't have luggage in the baggage car."

"Ah."

Whatever justification Ajax had about choosing to be honest, it doesn't help him now, because he's still embarrassed. Why should Mister Zhongli care about this? Ajax never tells his classmates he had to use half as much shampoo because he ran out. It's such a weirdly personal, mundane thing to be discussing with someone you haven't known for more than a day.

"I didn't have time to pack," Ajax says. "Forget it, Mister Zhongli. Sorry about that."

Mister Zhongli shows not a sign of the same awkwardness Ajax feels. "That will have to be bought tomorrow," he says. "Once we're in a bigger city. Longer stop as well."

Ajax can't take this. He grabs his toiletries and makes a quick escape. "I'll go brush my teeth."

8:04 a.m.

-

In a small town hidden in the north like Morepesok, you'd be hard-pressed to find new people. Even most of his friends from university were from the same general area, ones who shared his rough dialect and largely uncomplicated upbringing—and those who did not immediately look at him like he's too rowdy and uncivilized. He hasn't tried to expand on his circle since.

So, when he wordlessly follows Mister Zhongli, he hovers somewhere close behind instead of walking with him; just in case mentioning the stop earlier wasn't really an invitation.

When Mister Zhongli turns to look at him, seemingly baffled at why he seems so cagey all of the sudden, Ajax feels a little silly. "Stretching your legs, Ajax?"

"Yes," Ajax says, and hurries to walk beside him. Like a normal person.

They only have about twenty minutes, but being in the same enclosed space for more than a day means Ajax is thankful to not be in motion for a while. They're still north of the continent, so the snow and the mountains are much the same, the air is as cold, and the signs are still in Snezhnayan.

They're still very much in the outskirts, though; with the only available establishments being an old convenience store and a lady with a kiosk selling trinkets.

"Ah. Here it is," Mister Zhongli says, walking into the store as if he already knows his way around. He goes directly to the back, where a small number of glass jars line the shelves, all packed full with dried tea leaves, their labels are small slips of parchment paper with shaky, handwritten names. "What do you suggest? This one is my favorite."

Ajax has only had one type of tea at home. It's from their neighbor Mister Koski, who exports most of the good stock and sells the rest on a rickety table along the footpath. He didn't think that tea would have such variety that he'd have a favorite.

"I don't know," Ajax says. "Isn't Liyuen tea more expensive, anyway? The rich Snezhnograd folks like them better."

"Expensive, because they're imported," Mister Zhongli says, holding up his jar of blackcurrant tea leaves. "These are priceless where I'm from."

Mister Zhongli gets two. Once he's at the counter, he smiles at the cashier and asks that the jars be put in the separate bags. The young cashier looks down, turns a little red, then nods.

Ajax can empathize, but that's a thought he really shouldn't entertain.

Once outside, Mister Zhongli turns to Ajax, and says, "this one is for you."

Ajax blinks. "Oh, I—"

"Something to remind you of home." Mister Zhongli says. "You never had time to pack, didn't you?"

12:33 p.m.

-

Mama doesn't really believe in brunches. That's such a southern thing to do, she would say.

Something about southern daylight not lasting as long as it does in the north, so people eat less often but take heavier meals. Ajax isn't sure if that's sound logic, but the way Mister Zhongli looks makes him think Mama has always been right about everything.

"They don't serve dinner until eight," Mister Zhongli says. "Are you sure that's enough for you?"

Ever since Ajax walked back dazed from their last stop, he had been set on at least buying Mister Zhongli something in exchange for the tea leaves. It's not that hard, apparently, because the dining car crew reappeared as soon as Ajax even began to think about it—and asked why Mister Zhongli hadn't shown up for brunch at eleven sharp.

"I'm not used to eating so much at a time," Ajax says. He gestures at the spread in front of them—a couple of plates carefully fit into a small table that's never meant to be used for this.

Mister Zhongli hums, flipping his newspaper to the next page, his other hand resettling on his cup of tea. "We should order smaller meals in the morning, then. For breakfast."

"Having the cooks make me food and set up the table feels like a lot of work."

"We'd have to wait two more days, but some kiosks in Mondstadt sell take-home frozen meals," Mister Zhongli suggests. "We can just ask to use the train's ovens ourselves."

Though Ajax is quite used to village people being nice to everyone, Mister Zhongli's big gestures make him feel a certain type of way. It's somehow not the same as Teacher Ulyana staying late when Mama runs late, or local repairman Rozycki gifting him new boots on his first day at university.

The more likely explanation is that Mister Zhongli's the most attractive man Ajax has ever seen, and he just doesn't know how to act. That is not something he would ever say out loud, true as it may be. Ajax just thanks all the Seven Gods of Teyvat that no human can read minds.

"Do you work for social services, Mister Zhongli?" Ajax asks.

Mister Zhongli huffs. "Why do you think so?"

"I haven't met anyone who's as generous as you."

When Mister Zhongli laughs, it is a low-pitched and elegant thing. "Most strangers I've met have been quite nice to me," Mister Zhongli says. "So I approach new people assuming the same of everyone."

"I could've been really unpleasant, you know. Would you still have been nice then?"

Mister Zhongli stirs his coffee, eyeing Ajax from across the table. Ajax always thought books were so dramatic when a mere look completely immobilizes someone, but he thinks Mister Zhongli's gaze might be close to it. When Mister Zhongli looks at him, Ajax feels like he can't breathe.

"Maybe even so," Mister Zhongli says.

3:18 p.m.

-

"How did you even find this?" Ajax asks, looking up at the old, slightly dilapidated post office.

It's built like every other community building in Morepesok—insulation first, aesthetics second. The sign is in Shenzhnayan script, faded and off-center, the roof surprisingly unmoving under the weight of the snow on top of it.

"I have them mapped out," Mister Zhongli explains as they walk in. "Traveling by train means I cannot be contacted for more than a week, so I send updates to my secretary. Make sure she knows nothing happened to me on the way."

The office worker drops his bag of snacks in his rush to cater to them. Ajax can believe he's just this dedicated to his job, but he has that sparkle in his eyes when he looks up at Mister Zhongli—recognition mixed with awe.

Ajax blinks after the office worker, who's now busy digging around for stamps. "Huh."

"Is that odd?"

"No," Ajax says. "You have a secretary. I just feel like I should be calling you 'sir' or something."

Mister Zhongli finds this funny, apparently, because he looks at Ajax with a playful smile. "Well, we'd first have to negotiate something like that. With a contract, preferably."

Ajax blinks. He doesn't get it.

He doesn't get it, but the post office worker does.

Said worker sputters, dropping his empty mug while turning very, very red. And he stays red, even as they leave, not being able to look either at them in the eye.

6:01 p.m.

-

It's not as cold at the lounge today, so there's more people. There's so many that all of the seats are already taken, a few more are standing and leaning against the armrests. Ajax very nearly suggests they come back later, until a man occupying one of the two-seaters stands up and approaches Mister Zhongli.

The said man offers a small, respectful bow, smiling politely and speaking in Liyuen. His shoulders are a little hunched as he looks up at Mister Zhongli, who towers over him.

Feeling a little awkward, Ajax starts to step away to head back to their compartment—until someone catches him by the sleeve of his coat.

"This is Mister Hanxue," Mister Zhongli says. "He's generously offered his seat for you."

Ajax steps back. "Oh! No, it's fine—"

"It's okay!" Mister Hanxue says, grinning. "I was on my way out. Pre-dinner nap, if you will."

As Ajax attempts to mimic the bow as politely as he can, the hand that's on his sleeve moves down to his elbow, gently pushing him in the direction of the now free seats. He wonders if he should be offering it to the others who were here first, but they all look at him pleasantly, nodding at him in polite greeting.

"The main bartender boarded on the last stop," Mister Zhongli says; not at all noticing the deliberate niceties being thrown their way. "I'd like you to try my favorite. It's a signature of theirs."

"Okay."

Mister Zhongli orders them Piramida Nightingale, a name Ajax has only heard from rich classmates. It's surprisingly sweet, sour, and fizzy; definitely new to him, and in a good way.

"Do you want to get something at Sumava station?" Mister Zhongli asks, taking up as much space on the couch as usual, leaned back and relaxed with his cigar and cocktail. "Besides the socks, of course."

Ugh. Ajax turns away and sips on his flute.

"I don't know," Ajax responds belatedly. "I've never been this far south before."

"We can order takeout. Better yet, we can wait until Nasha Town. It's the biggest city."

Looking out the windows doesn't offer much of an escape, as it's all blankets of snow on flat lands. Ajax knows he'll lose nothing from being friendly—it'll make things easier for him in the six days or so on the Zapolyarny Express—so why does it feel like he's about to take a step he can't walk away from?

"When was your first time abroad, Mister Zhongli?"

Mister Zhongli gently flicks ash into the ashtray, thinking; as if he's sorting through his memories like the documents he goes through. "Mondstadt," he says. "A field trip in secondary school."

Ajax nearly chokes on his drink. "You had trips abroad in high school?"

This seems to be the expected reaction, because Mister Zhongli merely shrugs, face unchanging. "We had a lot of private funding and a rather eccentric school director," he says. "The goal is to learn as much as possible, then take all the knowledge you've acquired back to Liyue."

"That makes sense," Ajax says. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so dramatic. I went to a high school that had ten classrooms and barely a canteen. I forget some places are a bit better."

"It's all the same, is it not?"

It's a response so utterly strange to Ajax, because everyone knows that's not true. This is the type of thing parents tell their children, or dubiously-qualified speakers say at career talks. And, most especially, said by well-meaning older men far too down-to-earth to admit they are better.

His thoughts probably show on his face, because Mister Zhongli is quick to explain himself. "That high school still got you to university," Mister Zhongli says. "And it got you here now all the same, did it not?"

Ah, what a strange coincidence. Ajax hadn't been prepared to tumble into a ravine of emotional hangups he's had for more than a decade. He hadn't even expected to hold conversations with anyone on the train, let alone talk about this.

He sighs. Ajax runs his finger along the side of his glass, the condensation coming away damp. This much alcohol isn't going to knock him out, but it's enough to make him somewhat loose-lipped; his brain to mouth barrier beginning to thin.

"It wasn't so bad. Snezhnaya did have one decently-funded university for business majors. Not famous or old, but good enough," he says "I just think things might've been different had I not been so…difficult. I ended up taking the bus home every weekend."

Mister Zhongli leans closer, which makes Ajax's vision blur just a little, and gently takes Ajax's now-empty glass. "Nothing wrong with wanting to be with your family."

"I know. But I refused a recommendation to the Sumeru Akademiya because I get homesick fast. I wish I was more reasonable."

He will probably regret saying this tomorrow. There is nothing more embarrassing than reliving your moment of weakness to an unsuspecting stranger in the train lounge; regardless of how kindly that stranger looks at him right now.

"I think I went home early on that Mondstadt trip, actually," Mister Zhongli says. "I could not be in a different town or city for more than two days until I was about to enroll at university."

There's a hint of fondness in the way Mister Zhongli gazes back, though Ajax is pretty sure he's just a little woozy. Mister Zhongli does not look at the server when he hands over the flute, and continues to look at Ajax even as he says his thanks.

"It does get better, then?" Ajax asks.

"Slowly. And little by little," Mister Zhongli says. "But yes, it does get better."

11:00 p.m.

-

"Can't sleep?"

Not only can he not sleep, Ajax can't seem to lie down and stay in one position for longer than a few minutes. Since he's already disturbed Mister Zhongli by tossing and turning on his berth, Ajax decides it's better to just climb down.

"Just restless," Ajax says, careful to not put his elbows on the rickety table, leaning back and tucking his legs under him. There's a hole on his left sock and his wool shirt is the thinnest one he has; nothing is going right. "My extra energy always gets pushed down to my arms and legs, for some reason."

"I heard crafting is a good way to deal with restlessness."

"I do that sometimes," he says. "Mama noticed, so she taught me how to knit when I was ten."

The incandescent light is hitting just the right planes of Mister Zhongli's face, sharpening his jaw and cheeks in a way that makes him both intimidating and unreal.

When he smiles, Ajax almost turns to stone. "What do you make, Ajax?"

"Sweaters, mostly. And gloves. I've been getting into knitted tapestries."

"I should commission you," Mister Zhongli says. "My secretary says my office is too bare."

Ajax huffs. "You haven't even seen my work, Mister Zhongli. If you can even call it that."

He's not even trying to be humble on this one. Ajax never had enough time or patience. He always forgets a loop or two and his tension is all over the place. There are months-long interludes where Ajax had been too swamped with school to even think about something so unimportant as an unpaid hobby.

Mister Zhongli, like most people, doesn't understand this. "If you put a lot of work into something, isn't that impressive in itself? I, for one, would have done horribly."

"Eh. It's not the same," Ajax says. "What about you? What are you good at, Mister Zhongli?"

Mister Zhongli takes pause, seemingly abandoning his work to look up, eyes far away. "I suppose I am able to make fair, clear, and easily-executable contracts," he says. "I'm also told I'm really good at certain board games."

Ajax smiles. "Which board games?"

"I'm the best at Go, I suppose. Though most people know chess."

"Did you pack a Go board?"

At that, Mister Zhongli's eyes light up. "No, but I do have a chessboard."

Ajax knows as much about chess as a seven year old who's seen a board for the first time. "Would you teach me?"

Day 3

8:53 a.m.

-

The first thing Ajax notices are two paper cups and a brown take-out bag. The second thing is that Mister Zhongli is in a different coat, more muted and less heavy, his berth already folded back into regular train seats.

Ajax is about to get used to seeing Mister Zhongli first thing in the morning. What a dangerous thought.

"You missed the last stop," Mister Zhongli explains.

Wiping at his eyes, Ajax inelegantly plops onto his seat, his coat bunching around him. "Did you go?"

"I did," Mister Zhongli says, sliding one of the cups towards Ajax. "Bought this for you. I also got us a slice lakkaberry pie each. You should at least try it."

Ajax dumbly looks down at the paper bag, innocuous save for the small traces of grease at the bottom. "Sorry to bother you."

"You are not a bother," Mister Zhongli says. "Each new place traveled is a milestone. It would be a shame to not try as many new things as you can."

Mister Zhongli takes out the slices himself and lets Ajax look outside the window. The sun is already high above Amsvartnir Lake, warming up the train and replacing the orange light of the electric lamps. There's more green down here, and enough warmth to melt some of the snow.

Like most mornings, there are sounds of movement and shuffling inside the train. Passengers are walking in the aisle, either on their way to other cars and making it back from the washrooms.

A porter gives Mister Zhongli his morning paper, but said porter does not come into the other compartments to do the same.

"Here you go," Mister Zhongli says, passing him a wooden takeout fork.

"You should've woken me up," Ajax says. "I could have paid this time, you know."

Mister Zhongli waves dismissively. His gloves are deep burgundy today, and his tie is the same color as his eyes. If Ajax really looks for something out of place, it would be that Mister Zhongli's hair isn't as sleek as it usually is; his ponytail a little looser, but not in any way that's bad or worse.

"What did you do for undergrad?" Ajax asks. He doesn't know why he's asking.

"Geology."

"Oh?"

Mister Zhongli laughs. "Does it not fit me?"

Ajax thinks about it, but it doesn't take him too long. "It does, actually," he says. "I can't imagine how it helps with…"

"The government position?" Mister Zhongli supplies.

"No, I understand. I just assumed geologists would be scientists."

"I was. I worked in a lab for about two years or so," Mister Zhongli says. "I realized it wasn't for me and tried something else. It's more of a hobby now than a profession."

Ajax wonders which university Mister Zhongli went to, if it is one of those that let their students go on trips to collect samples, if he's gotten sunburn on his nose from being out in the southwestern sun too long. Mister Zhongli probably went to the Sumeru Akademiya, as all the important people do.

"How did you know?" Ajax asks. "How did you know it was worth trying?"

Mister Zhongli looks rather caught off guard. "Things somehow fell into place eventually," he says. "In the end, I took a risk and was merely fortunate."

12:15 p.m.

-

Speranza is not a tourist hotspot, but a crossroad—a convenient place for travelers in between train transfers. They barely offer any specialties, and instead serve quick meals easily put in a bag for anyone in a rush. This place is huge, with very little attention to aesthetics whatsoever, packed with as many seats as humanly possible.

"We're lucky," Mister Zhongli says, which isn't an understatement. This is quite literally the only available table in this loud, rowdy, and busy restaurant-canteen. "I'll get in line while you save our table. What would you like?"

Stopping at a major city means they have more than enough time to step off the platform and sit somewhere. So Ajax doesn't even think about it when he follows Mister Zhongli out of the cold, cramped train and into the sea of people milling about and going on with their day.

"I've never been here before," Ajax says.

"Alright. Something easy then."

Nasha Town is overwhelming. Ajax had heard multiple languages spoken in the little time he's spent here so far, the goods and the wares at the market are both familiar and not.

Unlike the simple, almost utilitarian Snezhnaya, Nod Krai's capital is a clash of colors and sounds, and it somehow all comes together once you get used to it. Seeing an Inazuman woman selling Mondstadter desserts and Fontainian coffee feels surreal.

It's a city where no one seems to be a foreigner anymore; and for a brief, almost intrusive moment of weakness, he reconsiders his initial plan of staying here indefinitely. If he can find a post office, maybe he can lie for the first time in his life, and say the train broke down on its way south.

"I hope you aren't tired of lakkaberries," Mister Zhongli says, carefully putting down paper plates with lakkaberry madames, midsommar torte, and a shareable serving of crispy roast.

Does Ajax know what they're called before this very moment? No, but Mister Zhongli explains things with the depth an ancient artifact deserves, and Ajax doesn't think he'll want it any other way.

"Is Liyue like this, Mister Zhongli?"

"Like what?"

Ajax makes a vague gesture at the people pouring out into the streets. The taste of food in his mouth is no different, as pleasantly chaotic as the city it's made in. "Very lively."

Mister Zhongli doesn't look up, but he seems amused. "Overpopulated, you mean?"

"Oh, I didn't mean—"

"It's alright. It's a well-known fact for two decades now," Mister Zhongli says. He starts cutting the crispy roast into smaller pieces, placing half of them on Ajax's plate. "It has twice as many people and buildings than this. The climate is much warmer, too."

Ajax makes a face.

"I'm not really selling it, am I?" Mister Zhongli laughs, revealing dimples on his cheeks Ajax has never seen before. "It's something you have to try to see if you like it or not. I like that there's so many people. I like that the streets are full during festivals."

It must be a cultural thing, because Ajax cannot possibly imagine himself liking any of it. The most populous place he's ever been pales in the face of a true cultural hub like Nasha Town. If Liyue Harbor is even more crowded, he's not sure if he could last long enough to not break his three-year contract.

"Worried?"

Ajax finds Mister Zhongli's observant eyes staring right at him, and it feels like the chaos all around them disappears for a moment. "A little," Ajax says. "The village I grew up in had six hundred people."

It'd been even less ten years ago, when Ajax had been a child. "I've never seen so many people in one place until college," he rambles. "I blocked traffic and had to be honked at to get out of the way."

Mister Zhongli doesn't laugh, nor smile, but his eyes are soft. If Ajax could presume something crazy for a bit, he might even say he looks a little endeared.

"It can feel a little lonely in Liyue Harbor," Mister Zhongli says, with a certainty Ajax can never imagine himself speaking. "Fortunately, you already know someone from the city. We can brave the morning traffic together, if need be."

"Oh, that's—"

Ajax is a little self-conscious, a little embarrassed, but he doesn't think he wants to stop speaking to Mister Zhongli any time soon.

"I would like that," Ajax says instead.

9:42 p.m.

-

Mister Zhongli tips a porter an unspeakable amount to let him into the luggage car.

The prize is a chess board, tucked between books and newly-purchased table runners from his recent trip. It's small, about the size of a regular notebook, magnetic and foldable. Ajax associated Mister Zhongli with all things perfect and pristine, but there are small scuffs and signs of wear, the paint faded and scratched up from use.

"I've had this since high school," Mister Zhongli explains. "Made it easier to practice whenever I had free time."

"Were you a competitive chess player?"

"I have an official rating," Mister Zhongli says. "Though I haven't been in a formal tournament in more than a decade. Ten-year-olds have overtaken most players my age."

Ajax wishes he's this interesting. Every conversation with Mister Zhongli feels like a new layer of his person, an interesting fact, a history that made him the man he is now. If Ajax was in a collegiate debate team or sewn a few more cloaks, he might have a lot more to tell people when they ask him what he does in his free time.

"Do you know how to play, Ajax?"

"Not really," Ajax says. "Actually, I might be pretty bad at it."

"That's alright," Mister Zhongli says, turning the board so Ajax plays white. "Not all games are a matter of competition. Most people play to see friends."

Mister Zhongli patiently runs through the pieces with him, tells him what they do and some basic rules. He tells Ajax to not worry about winning for now, and suggests that Ajax gets used to observing positions before thinking about checkmating.

"Do you play to meet with friends, Mister Zhongli?"

"Of course." Mister Zhongli gestures for Ajax to make the first move. When Ajax can't quite decide, he doesn't pressure or laugh at him; and instead waits patiently until Ajax pushes a pawn forward at random. "I find it easier to start conversations when you don't have to overthink."

"Oh? You find it difficult to start conversations?"

"Sometimes, one overthinks their words and can't start conversations," Mister Zhongli says. "Most of my friends are also colleagues from work. There's always a barrier that constantly needs breaking."

"Don't you have family in the Harbor?" Ajax blinks; his brain screeching, starting and stopping until it dawns on him. "Ah. That's too personal—"

"It is alright," Mister Zhongli says. "I don't, actually. My family hails from western Liyue. They're a little…traditional. Don't really like the modern sensibilities of the capital."

This is a revelation that's new, but it makes sense. Of course Mister Zhongli had grown up traditional. Even his Teyvatian, when he isn't trying to make it easier for Ajax to understand, feels like it's plucked straight out of Mama's old books. He'd probably pay dowry when he gets married.

Ajax mindlessly takes a lock of his own hair between his fingers, worrying at it while in deep thought.

"Is that why you have long hair?" Ajax asks.

Mister Zhongli does not expect the question. "It is, somewhat," he says, eyes widening just a little; though there is no hint of anything unpleasant. He seems to appreciate it, smiling softly, dimples reappearing. "I only wear mine this way because I and my family are accustomed to it. We do not strictly adhere to absolutely not cutting it anymore."

Ajax doesn't know much Liyuen, but he knows of Liyue. He had enough electives that he'd taken the odd history and political science courses—welcome breaks between advanced math and economics, though they weren't any easier.

It feels as if Ajax is being let in on something quite important. Ajax does not like to presume—and maybe Mister Zhongli is just open to everyone he meets—but he feels warm in the cheeks all the same. He doesn't know what to do with this.

Without a preamble, Ajax asks, "Would you play chess with me? At the Harbor?"

Ajax doesn't look at Mister Zhongli when he asks. If he does that, maybe it'll sound like an off-hand comment. Like he doesn't hope for anything more.

Mister Zhongli holds none of the hesitation. Or the shame. His eyes glint in excitement as soon as Ajax suggests they meet for a game of chess.

"I would love to," he says.

Day 4

11:33 a.m.

-

The fourth day is perhaps the least exciting. Not a lot goes on in these parts, the train passing along the outskirts of two large cities from two separate nations. Ajax buys them breakfast at their compartment, and Mister Zhongli insists on lunch at the dining car that mostly has old rich people as patrons.

"Do you cook, Ajax?" Mister Zhongli asks, when Ajax wonders aloud whether there's ginger in the sauce.

"I'm decent. Most of our food is prepared for the winter or processed for a long time," he says. "I didn't make daily meals until I went to college. Not that there were many options."

"If you can prepare traditional Snezhnayan dishes, as rigorously as they're made, you're already quite good."

Ajax feels his cheeks burn.

"Were you cooking in the dorms?" Mister Zhongli asks.

"Processed things, mostly. The sort you only need to fry or put in the oven," Ajax says. "Sometimes, when we have time, my classmates and I would pitch in and make pastries."

"I would like to try them, if you wouldn't mind," Mister Zhongli says, with a rare spark of excitement in his eyes.

When Mister Zhongli compliments, it is always stated as fact. He leaves no ambiguity, never cushioning them as opinions or passing thoughts.

If he keeps at it, Ajax will start thinking about crazy things like coming to cook for him on the weekends. Ajax isn't sure why his mind immediately jumps to coming over to make food—instead of just, you know, packing a bag and handing it to him on his lunch break.

But it's fine. No one's surveilling Ajax's thoughts. The Seven Gods of Teyvat never gave humans the ability to read minds specifically for times like these.

"If you're nice, I might let you," Ajax says.

2:12 p.m.

-

Ajax follows Mister Zhongli to a small courier office again. This time, Mister Zhongli's letters are put in special envelopes, sealed multiple times over as if it's some valuable state secret that's in danger of falling into the wrong hands. It's an observation he immediately dismisses—he's not here to think about complicated things.

"Anything else you need at the convenience store?" Mister Zhongli asks. "We have about eight more minutes."

"Uh, eight minutes isn't much. We're going to get left behind."

"We won't," Mister Zhongli says.

Ajax is taken by the elbow, then is led inside what is otherwise a normal-looking store. Half of the merchandise are cheap winter clothes and hats, the other half are raincoats and umbrellas. A true mid-way point.

"We should get a big one," Mister Zhongli says, choosing a nondescript white umbrella from the rack. When Ajax looks at him in confusion, he explains, "it's always raining in Fontaine. Chances are, it's already raining when we get there."

"Yes, but we can always run to the station," Ajax says. "Does Mister Zhongli hate the rain?"

In what is perhaps the first time Mister Zhongli's calm disposition breaks, he makes a rather disgusted face. "It is unpleasant," he says. "I like to stay dry if I can help it."

Ajax doesn't like the rain either, but he's pretty sure it's for entirely different reasons. He hates the rain because it turns the snow into slush and causes avalanches in the mountains. Mister Zhongli talks about the rain like it's something being done to him.

"Where are you even taking me?" Ajax asks. "For us to need a huge umbrella?"

Mister Zhongli gets distracted by a line of hats that come with their own mini umbrellas. It's cute. "Not a lot of places, I'm afraid," he says. "We will have to stay close to the Liyuen embassy."

"Oh?"

"The main city is quite large," Mister Zhongli hurriedly supplies. "If we stray too far from the station, we might get caught in the crowd."

Mister Zhongli orders two cups of Fontainian coffee from the counter. As the store owner turns away to fix their order, Ajax curiously stands on his tiptoes, trying to find a bag or a jar with a label.

"Stores cannot call it that unless it's certified." Mister Zhongli's gloved hand taps at the name on the faded menu. There's a gold star sticker next to the coffee's name, with an official permit number and all. "They will be fined otherwise."

"I mean, everyone likes to protect their cultural exports, no? Even Snezhnaya limits their Fire Water production to make sure none of it is watered down."

"Yes, but it's coffee," Mister Zhongli frowns.

"Ah."

There's something about seeing the kindest man you've ever seen act rather petty and vindictive. Mister Zhongli laughs again, takes their order before Ajax can even pay, then leads him back to the train.

6:01 p.m.

-

On the door, a large sign greets him with don't use faucet while the train is stationary, painted in bold letters in three different languages. Behind it, there's another sign that says please conserve water; which feels a lot more intimidating than the first.

It's as if the train knows Ajax had been meaning to kill some time.

He's here because Mister Zhongli knows a lot of people, and one of them had boarded the train at the last stop. When the porter came to extend an invitation for tea, Mister Zhongli had looked at Ajax as if it's only natural to bring him along—and Ajax had immediately panicked.

Washing up at this hour is such a random thing to do, but it's something that can be done. Ajax braves the cold water while feeling like a wet cat in an empty tin can, his toiletries rattling around and the showerhead refusing to stay in one place. He occasionally loses balance, gets shampoo in his eyes, and nearly slams into the shower door. It's a comedy of tasks that gets his mind so busy that he stops overthinking.

By the time he's done, he's mostly calmed down. No longer emotional and irrational, just exhausted and cold.

He's so cold and so distracted apparently, because he doesn't notice the stranger in their compartment.

At first, he thinks he's just lost. He instinctively steps back and apologizes for the trouble—except a second look confirms that he is, in fact, in the right compartment.

"Uh…Can I help you?"

Ajax doesn't know if being confrontational is the best choice; if he's to go by the swirling tattoos disappearing into the sleeves of said stranger's white jacket. The stranger looks at him like this happens everyday, blinking at Ajax then staring him up and down.

"I'm security," the stranger says; with a thick Liyuen accent Ajax would've never recognized had he not met Mister Zhongli.

"Train security?"

Ajax nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels a hand on his lower back. "Ah, sorry," Mister Zhongli says. "Xiao."

Xiao bows to Mister Zhongli, then nods at Ajax. "I'm Zhongli-daren's private sec—"

"An old friend," Mister Zhongli says. "He will be accompanying us in Fontaine. He's on his way back to Liyue as well."

"Oh," Ajax says. "I'm Ajax."

"I know," Xiao says.

Ajax isn't able to think about that, because Mister Zhongli is already leading him inside. He nods at Xiao, who seems to immediately understand that it's his time to leave.

"Now, come." Mister Zhongli smiles, practically seating Ajax down himself. "I got you snacks."

10:22 p.m.

-

Ajax temporarily gives up on chess and instead demands they play a few rounds of checkers. Mister Zhongli doesn't contest it, huffing fondly and relenting almost immediately.

It doesn't help; much to Ajax's chagrin. Anyone with an eye for chess will run circles around a game of checkers, he supposes.

This on-going game probably already counts as another loss, but Mister Zhongli keeps at it. He never really makes the call unless Ajax concedes, encouraging when Ajax tries to end a round too early, drops hints when there is an obvious move Ajax is missing.

At this point, it's really just an extended chess lesson; but Ajax doesn't really mind that.

"Xiao isn't in our compartment?" Ajax asks.

"He's in first-class."

Ajax looks up, curious.

"I am, I should say, a little sentimental," Mister Zhongli says, waiting exactly thirty seconds before he takes three of Ajax's pieces. "I like doing things the way I've always done them."

Such is almost easy to imagine with Mister Zhongli, with his gold-tipped cigars and niche Snezhnayan tea leaves. He writes on a fancy leather notebook with a beautifully-engraved fountain pen. He never wears the same pair of cufflinks twice in a row.

"Like old people are sentimental?"

Mister Zhongli laughs, playfully bumping Ajax's leg under the table. "I'm thirty-four."

Ajax feels electricity from the brief contact, a silly reaction that comes up way too often than he likes. He really is too sheltered, huh? If contact with the first charismatic man is sending him back into high school levels of giddiness?

"What else do you like to do, Ajax?"

"I like to go ice fishing on the weekends," Ajax hums. "Skating on the frozen lake."

Mister Zhongli, uncharacteristically, takes too long to respond. His expression is as pleasant as always, but Ajax can see just how much he's thinking about it; eyes a little too frantic for an answer so simple.

"Perhaps you'll enjoy meeting local enthusiasts, then," Mister Zhongli says after a while, clearing his throat. "They organize weekly night fishing activities."

Ajax can practically see him struggle with that one.

Most of the things Ajax likes to do are tied to the Snezhnayan snow. It's not the fishing itself, but afternoons finding the right spots, setting up tents, carving through the thick ice until he reaches the water. It's not the skating itself, but the mornings with his siblings, testing the ground to see if it collapses under his weight.

There is nothing of the sort waiting for him in Liyue, and Mister Zhongli knows that too. All that Ajax is, and all that he thought he's supposed to be, may cease to exist as soon as he leaves his last stop.

"Have you always known," Ajax says, right as he's making a game-ending blunder. "Who you're supposed to be?"

The blunder is so bad that not even Mister Zhongli could pretend he doesn't see it. He slowly moves his piece across the board, taking two of Ajax's pieces on his way to upgrading his pawn. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be," he says. "I simply know who I am, right now. It might change tomorrow."

Ajax smiles. With two pieces left, both trapped and cornered, he concedes the game.

Day 5

6:44 a.m.

-

Snow ceases to fall in Fontaine.

Ajax finally sheds his cloak, the air still cool but the sun more imposing. Unfrozen water seems to go on and on, surrounded by more green than Ajax is used to. Even the air smells different out here, foreign in every which way he looks at it.

There doesn't seem to be any signs of rain, but Mister Zhongli is adamant about this fact; so Ajax will withhold that judgment for now.

"There is a rather famous craft store in Cuijue Slope. I was told they sell the best knitting yarn in the south," Mister Zhongli says over coffee; like it's a thought he's been mulling over all night. "I just remembered."

"I should visit it when I'm there," Ajax says. "Are you a customer, Mister Zhongli?"

"No, I much prefer purchasing finished art," Mister Zhongli says, flipping through his newspaper.

He's also shed his cloak, which now reveals what Ajax has always suspected. A heavily-embroidered suit, though the details are done in silk threads a few shades lighter than the base fabric. It's the kind of detail that's only ever obvious up close, any more and it would cross over to gaudiness—though Mister Zhongli would probably look good in just about anything.

"Do you always read the news?"

"Only when I'm traveling," Mister Zhongli says. "Nothing gets on the intercontinental news unless it's particularly significant."

"No national emergencies in Liyue?"

"Thankfully, no," Mister Zhongli says. "And hopefully none come up throughout the trip. We won't be able to enjoy Mondstadt otherwise."

One of these days, Ajax is going to forget that they only met on this train by pure coincidence. Ajax looks down, to try to hide a smile, but isn't successful.

Mister Zhongli returns it, asking, "what is it?"

"Nothing. Do you always have an itinerary-for-two when you travel?"

When confronted with his warring emotions like this, he tries to be realistic—in that he reminds himself Liyue isn't going to be like this. He has a company-owned, employee-discounted apartment, a job that's going to keep him well into the evenings, and not enough salary to sit down and have tea in the places Mister Zhongli is used to.

There will not be a lot of Mister Zhongli for that matter, and he knows that.

Mister Zhongli opens the door to the compartment, just in time for the server to pass him a small plate of piroshki. "Breakfast," he says; as he does everyday.

12:03 p.m.

-

It is raining in the Court of Fontaine. Thankfully not so hard that Ajax would be soaked, but it's a never-ending drizzle that's slightly inconvenient.

In reality, it isn't the rain that's annoying Ajax to no end. It's the fact that there's still so many people walking around despite it. Ajax has swapped out his heavy cloak for a windbreaker, which makes him look even more underdressed right next to Mister Zhongli—and everybody else in Fontaine for that matter.

"Don't mind Xiao," Mister Zhongli says, walking close so they're both shielded by their new umbrella. "He likes to sight-see on his own."

By that, he means Xiao insists on staying behind them, not really speaking, and instead seems to be admiring the tall buildings around them. Besides looking visibly foreign, he's also sticking out like a sore thumb—with his highlights, tattoos, and traditional clothes.

"Are you sure?" Ajax frowns.

"I am sure," Mister Zhongli says. "Besides, he's like you."

"Like me?"

Mister Zhongli hums. "Very shy."

Ajax lightly bumps him in the shoulder. "I am not."

"Okay," Mister Zhongli says, clearly not meaning it; but Ajax doesn't argue.

He allows Mister Zhongli to lead him to the western part of the capital city. Quartier Narbonnais, Mister Zhongli had called it, and it sounds as ridiculously fancy as Ajax's ignorant, untraveled eyes perceive. As opposed to Snezhnaya's functional desaturation, or Nod Krai's bright chaos, Fontaine's are soft. It's pale blues and pinks and rose gold accents. Water runs through the heart of the city, and through every quarter and different channels, reflecting sunlight back to its elegant walls.

"We're here," Mister Zhongli announces.

He doesn't notice the embassy at first. Ajax had expected it to stick out, as most embassies often do in foreign lands.

While some of it is noticeably Liyuen—like the roof, wooden statues, and Liyuen script—it blends into the Fontainian color scheme. There might be more gold accents, but that's the most it veers from the rest of the city.

"National building policies," Mister Zhongli explains. "For the main city, specifically. If we insisted on a fully-traditional design, it would be in the middle of nowhere."

Ajax tries to ignore the unpleasant curl of Mister Zhongli's lips. Not because it's terrible nor scary, but Ajax is taking what's otherwise a snarl as upsettingly appealing. It changes Mister Zhongli's face into something Ajax hasn't seen before, hardening the line of his jaw and sharpening his gaze. He'll try to ignore that, too.

Inside, there are none of the restrictions in sight. The interior is a beautifully decorated space with varnished wooden floors and furniture. Pleasant, flowery incense wafts through the halls while low-volume string music plays from the gramophone.

Mister Zhongli leans close, then says, "ten minutes at most, okay?"

Ajax isn't sure which one is making his heart run laps. It could be the closeness. It could be that the sound of Mister Zhongli's voice is vibrating through Ajax's entire body.

He retreats to the waiting area and watches Mister Zhongli and Xiao disappear upstairs. The first floor is so wide that it takes him a moment to get to the sofas, passing by a line of gold plaques and beautiful art along the walls and beams.

Before he could even sit down, a man has already shown up to place a steaming cup of tea on the coffee table.

Said man dons the standard Fontainian vest and waistcoat, with embroidery hinting at traditional Liyuen patterns—an interesting mix Ajax hasn't seen until he got on the Zapolyarny Express. "Good morning, uh, Monsieur…?"

Ajax shakes his head, smiling awkwardly. "No one important," he says. "I'm also not from here, so…"

"Ah! Snezhnayan?" The man looks relieved when Ajax nods, his shoulders losing tension. "Deus Auri, sorry about that."

He draws close, hand covering his mouth as if he's whispering a secret, and says, "ever since that assassination attempt, you can't be too careful, you know?"

Ajax stares back at him. "I'm sorry?"

"It's fine! We embassy folk now do international day and stuff like that, so the coast has been clear for a while now." He pauses mid-rant, then seems to register the confusion on Ajax's face. Expression thoughtful and curious, he asks, "you haven't seen the news?"

As Ajax shakes his head, realization seems to dawn on the man. He asks, "how old are you?"

"Twenty-three this year."

"That must be it," he sighs, pulling himself back up; standing straight and no longer conspiratorial. "I apologize. It's been a little tense for a while. The Tianxuan says it's no longer a concern, but for us old folks, these things tend to stick. You know what I mean?"

Ajax nods. He doesn't know what he means.

"Anyway, here's your tea. These don't get imported commercially, so it's worth a try while you're here," he urges. "Look out for Zhongli-daren, won't you?"

Ajax is torn between laughing and screaming for help. Mister Zhongli had reappeared in less than five minutes, then immediately swept Ajax off to some shady, hidden quarter he calls Fleuve Cendre.

He'd expected to be taken to the fancy-looking Café Lutece, only for Mister Zhongli to take a sharp turn and take them underground.

Xiao looks about as worried as Ajax is, if not worse. "Zhongli-daren."

"Is something the matter?" Mister Zhongli asks.

Well, clearly something does. Even for Ajax, who isn't new to less-than-ideal living situations, Fleuve Cendre is a dim, damp, and shadowy place. It's dank, and smells like a wet cloth has been left to dry with very little ventilation. Water runs through the underground city like it does above ground, except the rushing tune echoes and bounces off the walls, the dripping sounds almost a warning.

Mister Zhongli heeds none of the warnings, and smiles back at Xiao's ever-increasing frown. "Why would I worry, when we have you?"

Ajax is probably really naive, but all his hesitations seem to dissipate with that. He can't help it, not when Mister Zhongli's gloved hand takes Ajax's, thumb leaving a reassuring caress at the back of his palm.

"Come," Mister Zhongli says. "I never came down here myself, not until a friend decided to open shop."

"Open shop?"

"A restaurant," Mister Zhongli says. "She calls it an eatery, but it's all the same to me. Good food is good food."

There are none of the aesthetic building regulations here. There doesn't seem to be much regulation at all, if the creaking metal and wet stone paths are anything to go by.

What is most baffling is that it's an actual, thriving city down here. They pass by bars, clinics, and well-stocked convenient stores. Apartments are filled with the usual chatter, neighbors greeting each other from small windows, hardworking men smoking on rickety balconies.

"Do you come here very often?" Ajax asks.

"When I was much younger, yes," Mister Zhongli says. "Recently, not anymore."

Mister Zhongli expertly leads them through what feels like an unending alley of rusted metal and wet cardboard, smiling at the children who stop to wave at them, nodding at the old men like they're old friends.

"Here it is," Mister Zhongli says, pulling Ajax along. "Watch your step."

Ajax avoids a puddle, and finds himself in a surprisingly clean, mostly well-wept portion of the underground city. It has a bar, clean tables and chairs, and a chef hard at work.

The chef looks up, and grins. "Monsieur Zhongli! Head Chef Escoffier isn't coming in this afternoon."

"Is she? That's unfortunate," Mister Zhongli says. "We'll get a table for three, then. The usual for us, and for Ajax…"

Ajax shakes his head.

Mister Zhongli squeezes his hand, which Ajax had forgotten about until this very moment; and now he thinks he might actually combust. "He'll have my usual, as well," he says. "Thank you, Chef Lelienne."

1:18 p.m.

-

Mister Zhongli does buy something from Café Lutece on their way back. When the train starts moving again, Ajax is pleasantly full, with a bag of Crepes Suzette set aside for later. Their umbrella is leaned up against the corner, still damp, the music from the opera house still at the back of Ajax's mind.

"Don't the Maison Gardiennage patrol Fleuve Cendre? They're everywhere above ground."

"They don't. It is not under the jurisdiction of the Fontainian government," Mister Zhongli says.

"At all?"

"Most of the residents are either ex-convicts and their families. It's difficult to find work when you've been to prison."

When Ajax looks outside, the tall city walls still loom large. It's not the richest city, not even close, but many of his classmates had expressed a preference for Fontaine, if given the chance to move out of their small towns. Yeah, Liyue is an economic hub, but isn't Fontaine the city of dreams? they'd say.

Some of the tension around Mister Zhongli's shoulders dissipates, but not completely. He has none of the wide-eyed wonder his classmates once had.

"You seem to have an opinion on it," Ajax says.

"I am not allowed to have an opinion," Mister Zhongli says, expression unreadable. "I would not like for Fontaine to meddle with Liyuen politics, so I avoid doing the same."

"You only voice your opinion on the rain?"

Mister Zhongli laughs; caught off guard. "I do."

Ajax smiles, but he isn't able to keep it up for long.

Fleuve Cendre stirs something ugly inside him. That place feels like a trap. No frozen lakes to fish from, no soil to sow, no space to raise livestock—just a cycle of not having enough options and continuing to live without those options.

Had Ajax, by a stroke of fate, been born in Fontaine, he might've grown up not seeing the sun as well.

Quietly, Ajax asks, "were your opinions the reason for the assassination attempt?"

Mister Zhongli does not look up from the table, hands carefully setting up his documents for the day. He moves about as he always does, efficient and elegant and perfect, except now he's strangely silent.

Too silent; as if he's moving with as much deliberateness and care as possible. As if one wrong move would give something away.

"Partly," Mister Zhongli finally says. "Though it would be more correct to say that the perpetrator agreed with me."

Ajax raises an eyebrow.

"It was not the Fontainian authorities," Mister Zhongli says. "It was a frustrated man who'd grown up underground, acting independently. Wanted to kill a foreign official so Fontaine will be destabilized by war."

Ajax doesn't know what he'd expected the answer to be. Surely, he shouldn't have expected it to be so simple? Especially not when the plot had been murder?

He feels parched all of the sudden, reaching for his can of soda as he tries to process the weight of this new information. He tries to get his thumb under the pop tab, but he can't quite manage.

Mister Zhongli finally abandons his documents. He takes the soda from Ajax, then opens it in one, smooth movement. "You're wondering why I would still go down there, after all that."

Ajax nods, then feels like he can't look Mister Zhongli in the eye. Mister Zhongli shakes his head, eyes down, gently placing the soda can in front of Ajax.

This entire conversation feels like one they shouldn't even be having. Ajax may have poked the sleeping dragon way too many times and now feels guilty.

"I am not saying what he did was correct, or that he shouldn't have been punished. But what options did he have? His father had been convicted for theft, and returned with a record that kept him unemployed. Once the son grew up, there had been no other option for him but illegal trade."

Mister Zhongli leans back, eyes far away. His hand finds his fancy fountain pen, spins it around mindlessly. "The fact that he agreed with my views on Fleuve Cendre complicated things," he says. "Made it seem like he was a foreign sympathizer, as opposed to a man with legitimate complaints about how his nation is run."

Ajax quietly sips on his soda, watching for any sign that Mister Zhongli is upset with him. He wouldn't know what to do if that were the case. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It is fine. If you're going to be in Liyue for three years, you'll hear about it eventually," Mister Zhongli says. "I do not dislike Fontainians. I only disapprove of their government."

"Anyone should be able to understand that, no?"

"Many Liyuens cannot separate the two. They will always side with me, as I am from Liyue, regardless of what I feel or say on the matter." Mister Zhongli leans back, eyes running over the same line of text over and over, his stamp hovering over the document, distracted. "And for that, I am still responsible."

10:02 p.m.

-

Tonight, they forgo playing chess in favor of spending the evening at the lounge. It's late, so it's just Ajax, Mister Zhongli, and two nice older men who are too busy discussing the Interdarshan Championship among themselves.

Since they're passing through mountains and fields, there's no pollution to obscure the skies. Ajax gets to see all this by the window, sitting sideways with one leg up, his unlaced shoes on the floor.

Mister Zhongli sits beside him, sprawled and more relaxed than Ajax has ever seen, sat back and head casually leaned up against the back of the couch. A freshly-cut cigar burns, his right arm perched on the armrest.

"Had we gone at least a month later, we would've been able to see the northern lights," Mister Zhongli says.

"I'm sure you'll see them next month," Ajax says. "Once you're back in Snezhnaya."

Mister Zhongli hums, noncommittal. When he draws on his cigar, the orange ember crackles. "You asked me if it was worth trying," Mister Zhongli says. "Changing courses when I did."

"Yeah?"

"I went back to school."

Ajax takes his eyes off the skies, leaning his head against the couch like Mister Zhongli.

Five days in, Ajax has gotten used to the train. The cacophonous sounds of moving metal aren't so grating anymore, less prominent, now a rhythmic hum akin to a ticking clock. It drowns out the animated conversation from across the lounge.

And, when the lights are dimmed, it feels more private than their closed compartment.

Like this, Mister Zhongli is impossibly close, tangled up with Ajax on this two-seater lounge chair. "There's a research institute in the Harbor. Great graduate programs. You could enroll in just about any department as long as you have a bachelor's degree and a recommendation letter."

"Even geologists?"

"Geophysicist," Mister Zhongli says. "Spent three years in public policy masters, a year for the comprehensive exams, another two for the thesis. I was side-tracked and finished it much later than I intended."

"Were you working the entire time?"

At this, Mister Zhongli seems to hesitate. He smiles, but in a way one does when they don't quite know how to say what they're about to say. "Part time," he says. "My family had the means."

Ajax keeps looking at him, fascinated by the shape of him. Everything about Mister Zhongli's face is perfect—from the slope of his nose to the curve of his cheeks—so no one can blame him. There's a hint of a crow's feet forming at the corners of his eyes, but even that just adds to the whole thing.

"Perhaps," Mister Zhongli says. "You'd want to look at what they're offering. See if there's a new course you'd want to change to."

Ah. Mister Zhongli really is thoughtful.

"I don't know if that's something I can do, Mister Zhongli," Ajax says.

"Just looking to see if it interests you isn't a commitment," Mister Zhongli says. "Nothing is lost by trying"

Ajax doesn't hold it against him, but sometimes, Mister Zhongli says things one can only say when he has the means. It's quite obvious, from the way he looks when he speaks, that he genuinely just says what he only thinks is best.

He relents anyway. Nothing is lost by living in a fantasy for a while. "Okay," Ajax says. "I'll try to look it up."

Day 6

10:55 a.m.

-

This isn't Mondstadt, at least not anymore. In the last thousand years, Mondstadt's capital had moved closer to the sea, leaving the ghosts of its ruins behind. It's windy, less hostile than the worst snowstorm Ajax has seen, but insistent. Ajax has to squint when the wind blows particularly harshly, his face left a bit cold.

"Ancient poems say the capital was on a mountain," Mister Zhongli says. "And that Barbatos moved it to avoid invaders."

They can't approach the ruins, not without getting left behind, but the view from the stop is enough. Ajax looks down at a once-thriving capital, the remnants of its stone paths covering grounds larger than even Morepesok. A singular tower is the last one standing, a mere reminder of more complicated times.

"Well, did he move a mountain?" Ajax jokes.

"Not an entire mountain, but they might have taken parts of the palace with them when they migrated east," Mister Zhongli says. "Some of the stones used to build the church were similar to the ones in the ancient city walls."

"I assume the move happened more gradually?"

Mister Zhongli smiles. "Correct. About two hundred years," he says. "Stormbearer mountains had been a small trading city for the time being."

"Until the war."

"Until the war," Mister Zhongli says. "You are sure you're not a history major?"

Ajax laughs. "Mama was. Or she was supposed to be. Until, you know…my eldest brother."

"Ah."

Before he'd been promised work in the south, Ajax thought he'd never see new places. He'd gotten used to there not being four seasons, only winters harsher than some months. He'd woken up to the view of an ice-cold sea and went to school where all the neighbors' children went to.

His world had been small, and he'd been fine with it. Now that it's suddenly bigger, he's a little scared.

"If I wasn't set to work in Liyue, I might've married at nineteen," Ajax says, squinting as a particularly strong gust of wind rushes past. "Nothing wrong with that, I just couldn't imagine myself in that situation when I'd been so confused about everything back then. Some people had it together, but I didn't."

Sometimes, Ajax takes a pause mid-sentence; only to see if Mister Zhongli's attention has moved elsewhere. It's not going to offend him—expects it at times—but, as always, Mister Zhongli is intent and sincere.

It's chilly, but not so much, so Mister Zhongli has his coat thrown over his shoulders. It hangs behind him, elegantly moving with the wind, and so does his hair. Ajax could write a hundred poems about this image of him alone.

"If someone liked me enough to have married me, that is," Ajax quickly adds; not really thinking about it.

Mister Zhongli's eyes are bright topaz, the kind described in ancient Liyuen books and romance poetry. "I'm sure someone would have. Liked you enough to marry, I mean," Mister Zhongli says. "And whichever you would have chosen to do, I think you would have done well."

Ajax snorts. He walked into that one. Mister Zhongli gives the best compliments. Not in the he's nice way, but more so the he would never lie way.

He keeps his eyes on the ruins, following the faint lines of what had once been ancient cobblestone streets. Otherwise, he's going to have to look Mister Zhongli in the eye, and he cannot seem to do that this morning. For some reason.

"Mama's a great cook. Knits artisan-grade sweaters. A great mom overall, in my opinion," Ajax smiles. "I think she would've also been a brilliant historian, you know?"

A particularly strong gust of wind nearly knocks Ajax over. Mister Zhongli's hand is on his back in an instant, retreats almost immediately. Ajax is so jostled he doesn't even register the contact.

"I wish she could've done both," Mister Zhongli says.

Ajax agrees. "When I was…nineteen, twenty, maybe? I found the old school papers Mama used to write for," he says. "News, poems, feature articles. Hardly anyone cared about the thing, so most of it is filled up by her writing."

His eyes follow the silhouette of the tower before them, fascinated by its shape. If Mama had been here, she would've been able to tell the exact stone it's made from. She would have known, from one look, which time period a pillar was made in and which king had commissioned a stump where there was once a statue.

"They were good, Mister Zhongli," Ajax says.

It's not a lie. He's not just saying that because he thinks Mama's perfect—and that's probably worse.

There's a certain tenseness around Mister Zhongli's smile. It's not really particularly joyful or sad, but something in the middle. "You know," Mister Zhongli says. "Just because your mother no longer has as much time to write anything, does not mean she ceases to be a poet."

Ajax blinks at him.

"She is unpublished, but still an artist," Mister Zhongli says; his smile kind. "She can always pick it back up in the future. And, if she never returns to it again, those poems will be as beautiful as they've always been."

3:22 p.m.

-

As the trip goes on, everything else on the train changes. The old men that stood alongside Ajax at the Snezhnograd station have long gotten off at various stops in Nod Krai. New passengers have boarded from Fontaine. The crew has changed shifts at multiple stops.

The frostlamp flowers in the dining car are replaced by fresh lumidouce bells. New chefs and bartenders make slight changes in the way food and drinks are made. The silent chatters in Shezhnayan that once filled cars once have slowly been replaced by a colorful mix of Liyuen and Fontainian.

As soon as Ajax steps into the dining car, one of the servers immediately sits him down. She sets up the table for two, which Ajax politely stops to say, "I'd like to take them back to our compartment."

The server nods in understanding. "We'll have it delivered for you."

Ajax consciously looks around, then sees that several tables are occupied and within earshot. "Oh, no. I can do it myself."

"It is alright, sir," she says, and hands him the menu.

A little awkward, Ajax orders two cups of sweet tea, then is told he's free to return to the compartment to wait. They don't ask him which compartment he's in.

Frazzled, Ajax allows himself ten seconds to decide what he does next. Would insisting on taking the coffee himself be the best option? Or does that cross over into rude stubbornness?

When he looks to his side, he catches the eyes of a nice old lady stirring her tea. She smiles at him.

When she speaks, she has a faint Sumeran accent. "You don't have to do all the chores for your husband, my dear. Especially not on vacation."

"Oh, I'm not—"

"I'd refuse to do chores at all, if I married that rich," she sighs.

9:41 p.m.

-

Mister Zhongli barely left the compartment today. They haven't gotten off at a stop since the first one this morning, if he even noticed the train stopping at all. All of their meals were delivered straight from the kitchens, with Ajax having to help move the papers and folders off the table each time. Ajax tries not to bother him too much, silently cleaning up and not speaking when Mister Zhongli is seemingly drowned in work.

Exhaustion lingers even when Mister Zhongli's done. But, since this is Mister Zhongli, he doesn't look tired in the same way Ajax would be. He doesn't have bags under his eyes nor does his hair look disheveled.

It's in the way he sits back, posture loose. He's slower to respond, slower to blink, registering things with noticeable delay. He's so exhausted that he lets the porter come in to set up his bed, then lets the compartment table be folded back and tucked away—the first time Ajax has ever seen it put away in the six days he's here.

When Ajax starts climbing to his bed, though, Mister Zhongli asks, "no revenge game today, Ajax?"

"Not that any of it has worked," Ajax laughs. "Revenge not exacted is but mere imagination."

Mister Zhongli chuckles. He's always been mild and respectful, but he's never been this subdued. It does not help, then, that he keeps looking at Ajax.

Ajax, who now has one hand on the side of the berth, ready to come up. But since Mister Zhongli keeps looking at him, it feels as if he hasn't let Ajax go. How strange is that?

"We can do a few rounds," Ajax says. "Or we don't do any at all, and we can just sit and watch rocks from the window."

The train moves quicker at night, so there's much more jostling around going on. Not that there's much point to lingering anywhere for long, anyway, you can hardly see even the skies with how much the mountains are obscuring them.

Mister Zhongli does not set up the table nor does he take out his chess board. Ajax is sitting with him, one of Mister Zhongli's pillows on his lap, his left big toe poking out from a hole in his oldest pair of socks. Balanced on Mister Zhongli's hand is their shared bowl of grainfruit chips, which is really Ajax's bowl considering how much more of it he's eaten.

"How is it?" Mister Zhongli asks.

"This? It's alright," Ajax flips his book to show the title; a fancy hot pink cover with the words Toki Alley Tales stylized to Celestia and back. "Pretty sure this is the third one in a series, though."

"Were the other ones you brought not standalones?"

They are, but Mister Zhongli doesn't need to see those. Yae Publishing has very little presence so far west, but the stuff that does arrive are, well, not the kind you'd read sitting beside someone else.

"Didn't feel like reading them," he says instead. "Haven't read for fun in a while. It's been exclusively numbers and research papers for me. And spreadsheets. Lot's of them."

"Would you be interested in Liyuen classics?" Mister Zhongli says. "When you learn the language, that is."

Right. Ajax hasn't really thought about that, at least not as much as he should.

"I'll be so bad at it," he groans. "Still haven't fixed my Teyvatian and I'm twenty-two."

"Your Teyvatian is great," Mister Zhongli says. When Ajax makes a face, Mister Zhongli pokes a finger at the space between his eyebrows. "I'm not just saying that. There are so many things I can compliment you for, I don't need to invent anything."

Ajax pouts, then sits a little further away. He needs to keep his distance.

This entire day feels rather mundane, and that makes it all worse. When Mister Zhongli marks his spot on a document with his finger, Ajax wordlessly gives him his fountain pen. When Ajax comes in with a small plate of desserts, Mister Zhongli moves his papers out of the way before he's even asked.

Walking around, loudly talking, and being tourists might mean they're interacting more, but not like this—quiet, staying inside, merely existing alongside each other. Ajax is terrified of how easy it all is.

Ajax flips to the last page, then hands Mister Zhongli the torn piece of notebook tucked in there. "Company's recommendations. Language tutors, I mean."

Mister Zhongli stares at the list of names for about two seconds, then says, "I can do it."

Ajax snorts. "I'm asking if you have recommendations. I can hire anyone I want at the company's cost. As long as I progress quickly, that is."

"I know," Mister Zhongli says; serious. "I can do it. You don't even have to pay me for it."

"No, Mister Zhongli, I—" Ajax sighs. "You can't be giving me free language lessons. You have better things to do."

"Better, how? Having a bank worker who speaks fluent Liyuen is quite important to me."

Despite how he looks, Mister Zhongli is surprisingly stubborn. He hasn't been wrong, exactly, but Ajax feels like he wins arguments by holding his ground and not wavering. Mister Zhongli isn't unhelpful, he's the complete opposite; and that's the problem.

"I'll think about it," Ajax sighs. "Mama used to apologize to us every other week."

"About what?" Mister Zhongli asks, slipping the list back into the Ajax's book.

"Most kids are usually enrolled in summer school. Piano, singing lessons, the standard one being Teyvatian language lessons. I know we don't have to, but most people who work high-paying jobs or have well-to-do parents speak decent common tongue, you know?"

"Not always true," Mister Zhongli says. He looks confused when Ajax playfully scowls at him.

"Anyway. I only got to enroll in one when my godmother came back from Liyue."

"For Teyvatian lessons?"

"Dance," Ajax admits. "My teacher was Sumeran, so I learned Teyvatian incidentally."

It's only by accident, really, that he catches the expression on Mister Zhongli's face. Something between surprise and curiosity, of silent fascination. "Did your godmother enroll all of you?"

Ajax frowns. "No. Just me."

"Is that a problem?"

He knows what his response would be, had this been one of those times he lets his mind wander. What he says isn't quite the same. "Not really. She didn't have to do any of that, and I appreciate it," Ajax says. "I just don't know if it was right to go when my siblings could not."

Anthon knows Teyvatian by virtue of being impossibly smart, Tonia because she's with Anthon all the time. His siblings might have been better dancers, could have been pianists, could have been strong athletes. But there's no way to know. Ajax is her favorite, sometimes played as a joke on the occasional birthdays, but they all know there's a hint of truth there.

"Ajax," Mister Zhongli says. "You can't be apologizing for things freely given to you."

"I don't. I just wish those things weren't given to me sometimes. I feel like I can't always be grateful, and that's…nevermind."

Ajax repositions himself on the berth, uncrossing his legs. He tries to stretch them out on the floor, but Mister Zhongli catches them before his white socks could touch the ground. Without looking, a word, or ceremony, Mister Zhongli swings Ajax's legs over to him, carefully laying them across his lap.

Steam might actually start coming out of Ajax's ears, with how hot his cheeks become. He looks away, then tries not to move a muscle. Everywhere they touch, as little as it may be, feels electric.

"Is this alright?" Mister Zhongli asks.

The answer is yes. It might be a yes from here on out.

Day 7

9:42 a.m.

-

On the seventh day, Ajax wakes up to a stationary train. Although, it's more accurate to say he'd woken up to Mister Zhongli gently shaking him awake, too close and too sudden that Ajax nearly rolls off the bed.

"Sorry," Mister Zhongli chuckles. "Good morning."

When he catches a glimpse of the light coming in from the window, Ajax scrambles to get up, legs still tangled in the sheets. "Oh gods. Did I sleep through two stops?"

"You missed the first," Mister Zhongli says. "You won't miss the second stop, though. Unless you plan to sleep for twenty-four hours."

"What?"

It's hard not to be distracted when Mister Zhongli looks at him like this, and now he's turning away to rub at his eyes and furiously finger-comb his hair. He looks like a mess. His skin is oily and his hair is a bird's nest. He's pretty sure he'd slept with his mouth open.

Mercifully, Mister Zhongli fills the silence for him. "The train had to stop at Mondstadt."

"Really?"

"They're waiting for a second train to deliver parts," Mister Zhongli says. "It just left Qiongji Estuary as of this morning. Might take a day at least."

"Oh."

Ajax tries not to look at Mister Zhongli when he climbs down. When his still-woozy, hyper-conscious brain leaves him a little off-kilter, Mister Zhongli comes to steady him, hand on firmly on his elbow. He does not let go until Ajax has safely come down, which means Ajax still can't look at him.

"What did the crew say?" Ajax asks.

"They're paying for lunch and dinner," Mister Zhongli says. "They're also in the process of getting us accommodations. No electricity on the train as well."

Ajax sighs. He'd packed exactly seven sets of clothes, naive enough to think they'll never hit a snag.

"Does the hotel have laundry services?"

10:15 a.m.

-

It's idyllic. Mondstadt feels slower, less demanding, not as overwhelming. Safer, even. So safe, in fact, that Xiao does not protest when Mister Zhongli tells him it's okay to go on ahead.

It's a city closest to nature that Ajax has ever seen, smelling of fresh grass and wild mint. The cobblestone streets feel much wider in comparison, if only because there aren't many people walking around. Unlike the last two cities, it'd be impossible to lose anyone in the crowd.

Even so, Ajax doesn't question it when Mister Zhongli takes his hand and leads him through the turns and steps. Now that they're somewhere Mister Zhongli isn't so displeased to be in, he's actually an impeccable tour guide. He points at landmarks, and has historical facts about each one. When Ajax's eyes linger on anything, clearly curious, Mister Zhongli asks him what he thinks and explains it for him.

"Most of the signs here will have Teyvatian translations," Mister Zhongli says.

"That's nice."

"Not that I will ever tire of translating for you."

Ajax wants to hide. Ever since they've crossed the Fontaine border, every sign, note, and menu has become impossible for Ajax to read. If not for Mister Zhongli, he would have accidentally ordered a bag of coffee grounds instead of take-out latte.

"I don't think we have anything as old back home," Ajax says, looking up at the tallest statue he's ever seen. It's so tall that Ajax needs to squint if he doesn't want the sun to burn his retinas. Here it stands, through hundreds of years of border conflict and civil distress. "The rebuilding brought nice new things in Snezhnaya, but I'm not sure if it's good that everything is new."

Mister Zhongli continues to look up at the statue, but Ajax can see when his smile turns a little somber. The war had long ended even back when Mister Zhongli was in college, but Snezhnaya hadn't quite recovered at that point. They're still recovering now.

There's still construction going on in the capital, people picking up the pieces of a nation that's changed so quickly and so drastically. There's very little time to write new books or make new music, not when thousands of their art are still desperately being restored—pulled out of rubbles and frozen lakes, contested and reacquired from collectors who were made rich by hoarding spoils.

"My first field research assignment was in southern Snezhnaya," Mister Zhongli says.

"Really?"

He nods. "I have so much respect for geophysicists, but after a chance encounter at the national archive, I met a few admirable librarians. Then…"

"You realized you wanted to do something else," Ajax says.

"Our cultural history will be lost if we do not save them, but they're being done in Snezhnaya," Mister Zhongli says, his hand firm around Ajax's. "They've been doing it for longer than any nation, even."

"I hope so," Ajax says.

11:11 a.m.

-

By the time they reach the Goth Grand Hotel, Ajax is already making a list of places he wants to visit in the next twenty-four hours.

Having taken their time languidly walking around the city, they're the last to check in. The old man on the front desk takes one look at Mister Zhongli, and immediately drops whatever he's doing. He steps out, meets them halfway, and shakes Mister Zhongli's hand.

"Ah, I knew I saw your name on the list! Insisting on that damn train—you think like a man who's older than me."

"Glad to be here again, Master Ludwig," Mister Zhongli says.

Master Ludwig grins, fixes his tie, then rushes to get back behind the desk. His hand hovers over the drawer of keys.

But, right as he's about to pick one, Mister Zhongli interrupts him. "I'm not alone," he says. "Ajax and I share a compartment."

"Oh," Master Ludwig blinks; then looks at Ajax as if he's seeing him for the first time. He looks down at his drawer, then takes a different key. "Apologies. The Presidential Suite has two rooms, worry not."

"Are you sure?" Ajax asks, staring dumbly up at the coffered ceiling. This room—this hotel living room—has a chandelier. "I feel like this is four times the price of the complementary rooms."

"It's fine," Mister Zhongli says. "Master Ludwig is more likely to be offended if you politely decline."

Ajax feels out-of-place now, in his old gray sweater and pants; while Mister Zhongli looks like the type to actually, and intentionally, pay for a hotel suite this ostentatious. Even his socks match his pocket square.

"How often do you have to come here? To be given upgrades just like that?" Ajax asks.

"Too often. I went to university with a friend who's from here," Mister Zhongli says. "He would black out and forget where his house keys were."

"You drunkenly booked luxury hotel rooms?" Ajax asks, gesturing at…well, everything.

There's a sapphire ashtray on the coffee table, for heaven's sake. There's a dining table and two reading nooks. There are actual gold trimmings along the frames of what look to be very expensive paintings on the walls.

Mister Zhongli laughs. "It wasn't so expensive pre-renovation. I think Master Ludwig is just amused every time he sees me. Nostalgic, probably."

Ajax had assumed Mister Zhongli was never a drunk college kid, which now feels like a silly mistake in hindsight. Despite being and looking perfect, Mister Zhongli had always drank more alcohol at the lounge. If Ajax had matched him shot for shot, he wouldn't have survived. And that's a feat, considering he is…well, Snezhnayan.

"Did you always crash at the Grand Goth Hotel?"

"Not always," Mister Zhongli says. "Sometimes, I'd wake up on the doormat."

12:02 p.m.

-

Mister Zhongli suggests they skip the paid lunch at the hotel and leads Ajax down the square. Much like Master Ludwig, Miss Sara recognizes Mister Zhongli immediately. She's quick to smile, point at the available table by the terrace, and ask if he wants his usual.

"Actually, the daily special looks good," he says, eyes on a wooden stand with a mostly-faded menu. "Do you wish to try their cold cut platter, Ajax? Good Hunter is famed for their meat selections."

Ajax shrugs, but nods anyway. Half of his time on this trip is spent overthinking; Ajax is not against Mister Zhongli taking some of the mental labor and making decisions for him.

Mister Zhongli looks a little doubtful, but relents, then orders the only seafood item on the menu on top of the daily special.

"No afternoon wine for Mister Zhongli?" Ajax jokes.

At the terrace, the tables are unvarnished and weathered by the outdoors. Mister Zhongli has to take a napkin to wipe them down, brushing the dust off then taking the small tray of condiments from the other table. It reminds Ajax of his time in a small tavern close to his university; coming in with his friends, but only on days Old Man Leszek worked the bar.

"Until eight years ago, all of Mondstadt's wine had really high alcohol content," Mister Zhongli says. "New regulations were put in place, to reduce…rowdiness in tourists."

Ajax raises an eyebrow. "Was the tourist you?"

"I hope not," Mister Zhongli says. "It's now illegal to sell traditional wines to short-stay foreigners. If you wish to try, we can get them at the station before we leave."

"How would they know? That you're not walking back into the city with it?"

"Oh, they walk you to the train," Mister Zhongli laughs.

Mister Zhongli being walked to the train to make sure he doesn't cause havoc is a hilarious image. Although, at this point, Ajax is forty-percent sure it's a thing that might have actually happened.

When their order is brought to their table, their conversation doesn't really cease. There's no need to rush today, no one-hour time limit to keep them from seeing the city or ordering as much as they want. Ajax gets to listen to Mister Zhongli's surprising misadventures as a much younger man, in between small snippets of Mondstadter history.

Ajax is ready to spend the entire day with him, until Mister Zhongli mentions dinner.

"I'm meeting a friend tonight. Could not escape him when I'm here," Mister Zhongli huffs. "We might have to eat at the tavern tonight. Is that alright with you?"

"Oh," Ajax says. "It's okay, Mister Zhongli. I don't mean to intrude."

Mister Zhongli looks confused. "What do you mean? It's not an intrusion if you are invited."

"No, it's just—" Ajax slowly lowers his fork, suddenly in need of a sip of wine. He makes vague gestures at himself and the table, not really sure how to explain. "I just…I just think you have more important things to discuss, you know? No need to change your plans to accommodate me. I'll be fine for an evening."

"Are you busy?"

"Not really."

"We don't get chances like these very often," Mister Zhongli says. "Wouldn't it be nice to experience a new nation while we have time?"

Ajax bites his lip, still hesitant.

It's not that Ajax doesn't know how to talk to people; it's the kind of people Mister Zhongli talks to. Whatever it is that Mister Zhongli does, it makes him important enough to fawn over everywhere he goes. Ajax, much like at the hotel lobby this morning, will have to awkwardly sit on his hands and not know what to say. If he can even say anything, for that matter.

"Ajax."

"Yes?"

"I'm asking not because it is the polite thing to do," Mister Zhongli says. "I'm asking because I want you to be there. to accompany me. Does that help tip the scales?"

7:19 p.m.

-

It does tip the scales, eventually.

It takes an entire day of walking around, in and out of the city walls, before Ajax practically melts at Mister Zhongli's attention and agrees. They've looked at keychains, jars of jam, frozen meat cuts, and some books. Mister Zhongli found a traveling salesman and insisted he pay more.

"People should be paid for what is fair," he had explained, as the baffled man wrapped his new candle holder.

Ajax is having such a great time that going back to the hotel seems like a terrible choice. Not when he feels like he's able to breathe for the first time in nearly a week. Not when Mister Zhongli listens so intently to the long, long story of how Ajax—legally—acquired a mahogany table from a local bar.

So, here they are. In a mildly dim tavern listening to live music.

Though in the middle of the quaint, elegantly walled city, this is not the place for poise. The tables look like they've seen way too many drunk customers in their time—the varnish is faded in certain places, covered in burn marks from cigarettes left unattended, showing stains and water damage from spilled wine. It smells exactly the way it looks, but made more intense by the seemingly nonexistent ventilation.

Xiao finally reappears, slightly disapproving of the way Ajax leans into Mister Zhongli, but says nothing.

In Ajax's defense, there's no way to speak to someone without shouting over the sound of drunken merriment. A businessman had just returned from a months-long trip to Inazuma, and demand for the famed wine has shot up since the alcohol ban, apparently.

"They just lifted the ban?" Ajax asks.

"They're technically still under…administrative re-establishment," Mister Zhongli says. "The ports have been open for twenty years, though. Not that there'd been much to do until three years ago, give or take."

Ajax hums. "Do you also travel to Inazuma?"

"Not often," Mister Zhongli says. "Eight days without stops is too much, even for me—"

"You're getting old, that's why."

Ajax nearly jumps out of Mister Zhongli's personal space, and only then does he notice their new companion. Mister Zhongli's face twists into a genuine scowl, annoyed, and impatiently gestures for the man to sit down.

Laughing, said new companion relents, and plops down in front of Ajax.

At first, Ajax thinks he's not much older. He's a head shorter than Mister Zhongli, his features pleasantly softer, his smile wide and open. It is only when Ajax sees his impeccably-tailored suit jacket—one that's as expensive as Mister Zhongli's—that he realizes this is the college friend.

Xiao recognizes him, too. He tips his head into a small bow, and says, "Prime Minister."

For about ten seconds, Ajax just stares.

He doesn't feel his own jaw drop, his mind putting one word beside the other but not registering it fast enough. He's pretty sure he heard prime minister, but that's so obnoxiously impossible that he convinces himself he heard otherwise.

He is only brought back to Teyvat when Mister Zhongli clears his throat and rolls his eyes.

"Former," Mister Zhongli says.

"Former Acting Prime Minister," Venti corrects. Former Acting Prime Minister Venti raises his hand; and, without waiting for the server to approach, he shouts his order. When he turns back to their table, he grins at Ajax. "Don't lump me in with actual competent people."

Ajax very nearly says something too formal, like good evening, it's pleasure to meet you. It's like Mister Zhongli senses the faux pas that's on the verge of spilling out. "This is Venti, Ajax," he says. "Do not take him so seriously."

"Correct," Venti says. Ajax isn't sure if he's really this nice, or he's very clearly started drinking from the looks of it.

He tells a hilarious tale about the series of events that happened before he found his way to the tavern; with almost unbelievable turns like nearly getting run over by a ceremonial carriage and losing his shoe at some point. Mister Zhongli chastises him, but believes every single point of hilarity to have actually happened.

Then, Venti looks at Ajax a little too long.

He seems welcoming, but there's knowing scrutiny that brews underneath. Venti seemingly tries to figure things out, eyes blowing wide when he comes to a silent conclusion—then his gaze slides over to Mister Zhongli.

"He doesn't know?"

"He knows," Mister Zhongli says.

"Know what?" Ajax asks.

"That I work in government," Mister Zhongli explains. His frown mellows to a more pleasant smile—if not a little reluctant. "Ajax is on his way to Liyue as well."

Venti nods, looking genuinely interested; which isn't the kind of reaction Ajax expects. He leans against the table, elbows and everything. "Immigrating? Research?" His eyes narrow. "Marriage?"

"Work," Ajax says.

"Oh! Snezhnayan Bank, or are you working for Zhongli-daren?"

Ajax bites the inside of his cheek. It's a little awkward. He hasn't been in a casual table conversation with a complete stranger since the first day of university.

Mister Zhongli reaches under the table, finds Ajax's hand, and smiles. "Why don't we let Ajax order something first?" Right as Venti is about to shout for the server again, he adds, "properly, this time. Don't be a piece of shit."

Venti covers his mouth in feigned shock—looking at Ajax as if to say can you believe this—but does as he's asked. He raises his hand, makes a show of waiting for the server, then passes Ajax the menu with a regal bow. "Sorry," he says. "Not really used to this numbskull having very many friends."

"And you will continue to not have any," Mister Zhongli says. "With the way you come off on the first meeting."

Uncaring of the barrage of insults, Venti leans back and laughs. Mister Zhongli's clearly happy to see a friend again, and Ajax can't help but feel glad for him; overwhelmed by attention as he is.

"Well, Ajax, I'm sure you like his company, but I suggest finding more people when you get there. It's that, or you pretend to like boardgames while this loser drones on and on." Venti throws back an entire glass of beer, notices the silence, then actually, physically, cringes. "You abyssal butthole, you actually got him to play Go with you?"

"Chess," Ajax corrects kindly. "And I asked."

"Dear gods," Venti says, then orders another beer.

The night mostly goes smoothly. Ajax finds out that Venti comes to their tavern by himself most days a week, and it shows. Venti procures a deck of cards, insists that everyone plays, then it takes them about four rounds before anyone realizes there's at least three cards missing. When Mister Zhongli finally confiscates said cards, Venti only pouts and resorts to drinking more now that he has less things to do.

Venti reminisces while making sure Ajax and Xiao are included. He adds context when he needs to, is not afraid to embarrass Mister Zhongli at every opportunity, then regularly checks to see if everyone's having a great time. When Venti speaks a little too quickly or slurred, far too difficult for Ajax's mid-level Teyvatian to pick up, Mister Zhongli would lean in and restate for him.

At times, when it gets too much, Mister Zhongli would lean in for different reasons.

"Are you alright?" Mister Zhongli asks. He's so close that Ajax can feel warm breath against his ear.

"I am," he assures; then he looks away as two sets of eyes across the table linger on him.

10:49 p.m.

-

"It's late," Mister Zhongli says. "Do you wish to go back?"

Ajax stares down at his glass of room temperature wine, the condensation now a small puddle on the table. Venti tells such great stories that he'd forgotten his own drink. "It's fine. The train won't leave until late morning," Ajax says. "You don't see each other often."

"Too often, if I had a say."

"You're so annoying," Venti says. "You know you miss me."

"Sure," Mister Zhongli says. He faces away from Venti entirely, his face suddenly very, very close. "You were already falling asleep. Let's go."

Venti grins conspiratorially, but he doesn't say anything. He raises his glass to Ajax—never empty since the night started—and nods. "We can meet for breakfast tomorrow," he says. "Unless you lovebirds want alone time, of course."

Ajax must really have hit his limit tonight, because he doesn't even blink at that. He smiles, relieved to finally be able to leave, and takes Mister Zhongli's already-offered hand.

"Is Xiao not coming?"

"It's fine. He's not drinking anyway," Mister Zhongli says, as he opens the door for Ajax. They both take one last look at the tavern, which is somehow dimmer and stuffier than it'd been earlier in the night. "He doesn't seem like it, but they're quite good friends. Xiao got a scholarship in one of Venti's official projects."

"As Prime Minister."

"As Acting Prime Minister. He'd been one for about a year, until an official election was held."

The night is cool, there's not a hint of alcohol in the air, and the sounds from inside the tavern do not escape this far out. Mondstadt isn't a busy city center to begin with, so it feels almost inhabited when it's this late into the night.

Ajax nods, humming. His head is beginning to feel light. "What's it like?"

"What is?"

Mister Zhongli puts his arm around Ajax's shoulder, supporting him that way. Ajax isn't walking in zig-zags, but he's beginning to feel disconnected to his legs; like he's walking on clouds.

"To be doing important things? Impactful things?"

"Wouldn't you already know?" Mister Zhongli says.

Here's the thing about Drunk Ajax: he's quite audacious. He either stops being so polite or gains so much confidence that he loses all skittishness. At the moment, he's both crass and sure.

Ajax rips himself out of Mister Zhongli's hold, nearly nosediving into the ground, before springing back up like a puppet with strings pulled. He squints at him, trying to seem as intimidating as possible, and says, "you don't get it."

Mister Zhongli doesn't seem at all shocked, but his hands are held out; ready to catch Ajax before he breaks his nose on the cobblestone. "What don't I get?"

"You went to a fancy school that does foreign field trips, then got into the best university in the continent," Ajax says. "You're friends with important people and work important jobs. You can't say you don't know what it's like."

"I did not say that. I said you'd know."

Ajax groans, then turns away. "Whatever," he says. "Be like that."

????

-

Ajax wakes up to their hotel suite living room. Though, he doesn't really wake up as much as he comes to. The last thing he remembers is walking down the main square, so it feels like he's been transported here in the blink of an eye. His head hasn't begun to hurt yet, so he's still inconveniently drunk.

He tries to get up, does it too fast, then lies back down. He expects something soft, like a pillow, but what he finds is more firm, and warm—and connected to another body.

"Easy," Mister Zhongli says. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

Ajax stops breathing.

Mister Zhongli smiles down at him, fond, and all the alarm bells are going off inside Ajax's head. "If you do, you'll need to let me stand up."

What…did he do?

What is he doing? Why is he on the couch, lying on Mister Zhongli's lap? His brain is so overloaded with questions that he can't say a word, just mouth agape and eyes blinking. If he keeps opening and closing his eyes, maybe Mister Zhongli will disappear like the illusion he is.

"Are you alright, Ajax?"

"What was I saying?"

Mister Zhongli's eyes soften. "You missed your family."

It is only then that Ajax feels dampness on his cheeks. "Oh."

Five days is the most he's been away from them—and even that is stretching it. On Fridays, he would've already packed his bags for the weekend, brought that to campus, then hopped on the next bus as soon as his last period ended. It didn't matter that the bus was full or that he'd have to stand for hours in a moving vehicle.

Ajax has so far avoided thinking about it, but the alcohol has demolished a barrier he'd built since boarding the train. He thinks he'll cry again. He genuinely thought he had more time.

"I knew what you meant," Mister Zhongli says. "When you asked that question."

"Ah."

"I simply did not know what to say," Mister Zhongli says. "The question clearly carries a lot of baggage, and I'm not sure whether what I think on the matter will help."

Ajax will probably be more embarrassed if he's not juggling his overthinking with his wooziness. He moves his head, but only to resettle and be more comfortable. "I know. If what you say rocks the boat, you'd rather not say at all," he says. "Was I transparently insecure, this whole time?"

There's tension at the corner of Mister Zhongli's mouth, like he's trying to form words before he says them out loud. Only when Ajax closes his eyes, does Mister Zhongli speak. "Not always." Mister Zhongli's hand moves to brush Ajax's hair away from his eyes, fingers lightly scratching his scalp. "When you're busy, you're the most self-assured. When you forget that I'm quite decent at chess, you actually make the best moves."

In this position, Ajax is in a sweater that bunches in the back and pants that are pulled in the wrong places. He needs to drink water. He needs to wash his face.

This is the most comfortable he's been in a while.

He looks at Mister Zhongli, to see if he's still with him—and Ajax doesn't know why he even checked. Of course, he would be. "I feel like…I've wasted so much time. I immediately decided I'd be homesick, so I told no one about the Akademiya acceptance letter," Ajax says. "I couldn't tell Mama I hated my major, so I stuck with it until I graduated. I've known since sophomore year. "

It must be redundant at this point. He's thought about it in his dorm room at night, has written about it multiple times in his journal, has thought about it while looking outside the bus windows. He thinks about it when he's having dinner with Mama and the kids, then remembers it when he's helping his older sister mend her Sunday dresses.

Ajax's feelings have stayed beneath the surface for the most part, but it's an active, constantly moving thing—like a low-voltage charge. Now, it feels as though Ajax has plunged into the ocean of emotions and short-circuiting, taking himself and everything else down with him.

"Is it your godmother?" Mister Zhongli asks. "Would she be angry?"

"I don't know. I never asked."

What a weird evening. He feels exhausted all of the sudden. If he stops thinking now, he might actually fall asleep.

"I'm sorry about what I said," Ajax says.

"What do you mean?"

"It's not your fault," Ajax says. "That you didn't let an opportunity pass."

Mister Zhongli stops scratching his scalp, his thumb reappearing to gently press down between Ajax's eyebrows, smoothing his frown. "I know it's been difficult for you. I realize now that it will still be difficult, when you get to Liyue. There are things that I can only sympathize with, but not fully understand. I wish I did."

Ajax wishes he did, too.

"But I feel like you forget I am much older than you," Mister Zhongli says. "I don't think it's right to compare who I am to who you're yet to become. We don't know what that might even look like."

What he will become isn't sure, but he's close to knowing. What he will become is neither like Mister Zhongli, nor the Ajax that exists now. What he'll become is a man with a work visa in a foreign country he doesn't speak the language of. He won't be seeing frozen lakes one day and lively multi-cultural shopping centers on the other. There will be no Mister Zhongli to walk him around the stuffy streets of Fontaine or tell him about the historic square of Mondstadt.

When Ajax finally manages to get up, Mister Zhongli doesn't stop looking after him. He holds Ajax up with a hand between his shoulder blades, warm and secure. "Let's at least wash your face before you sleep," he says. "You'll feel much better in the morning."

Ajax lets himself be led to the large shared bathroom, with two connecting doors leading to their bedrooms. He doesn't mind Mister Zhongli watching him brush his teeth, wash his face, and clumsily dry himself with an offered towel. Everything in this hotel smells like dandelion perfume, which helps.

Mister Zhongli walks him to the connecting door, Ajax's used towel folded in his arms.

"Are you Prime Minister, Zhongli-daren?" Ajax asks, hand on the elaborate door handle. He can't decide what his preferred answer would be.

"No," Mister Zhongli says.

Day 8

6:50 a.m.

-

They really did stay up late. When Ajax wakes, it feels like he hasn't really slept at all. His eyelids are so heavy, stuck together and swollen, but he stretches and forces himself to get up.

Unfortunately for him, he hadn't changed out of his clothes. His pants are a wrinkly mess, his sweater smells of cigar smoke and spilled wine. This is probably the one and only time Ajax will ever get to sleep in a nice hotel suite, and he hasn't even made the most of it.

The first genuine good news greets him by the door. His newly-laundered clothes are in a paper bag with the hotel's logo, carefully folded and smell like cecilia flowers.

The next one is a note. In Mister Zhongli's elegant script, it reads, went to get us breakfast.

Ajax wants to melt into the floor and never come back. It would have been much easier if he hadn't remembered a single thing at all; his mind would be at peace then. But he remembers, and he can't believe he'd done all that—so now, he's considering hiding in his room until he absolutely has to show his face again.

He doesn't get to decide.

The door opens, and in walks Mister Zhongli with the hotel crew. They roll in with complementary breakfast, and Ajax could only watch as they bring out a silk table cloth, two complete sets of utensils, and fresh flowers to set up the table with.

They're so quick and efficient with it, that Ajax doesn't process Mister Zhongli's presence in the room.

"Good morning," Mister Zhongli says. "You did not have to wake so early."

He knows it's Mister Zhongli. It's just that Ajax has only ever seen him one way, and now his brain is screeching to a halt.

Mister Zhongli isn't wearing an expensive suit jacket, just a supremely-tailored dress shirt with sleeves pulled up—and two full sleeve tattoos. His long hair isn't in a neat ponytail, but in a loose bun, twisted and secured by a hotel-branded pencil. Ajax thinks it's worse that everything else is the same; shirt still neatly tucked in, trousers still crisp and unwrinkled, eye-wateringly expensive watch still on his wrist.

Ajax is going to faint.

"Good morning," Mister Zhongli repeats, and he looks amused.

Ajax fully hides his face, turning, pretending to be looking at the bathroom door. "You had them deliver breakfast?"

"I'm trying to avoid Venti. He'll try to convince me to stay a week," Mister Zhongli says. "Come sit down?"

He still can't quite look at Mister Zhongli when he does just that, focusing on his hash browns instead. This is the most over-the-top breakfast he's probably going to have—name brand butter packets, obnoxious plating, and all the bells and whistles of a luxurious hotel—and he's not processing a single moment of it. Not only is he incredibly embarrassed about the night before, he's now feeling twice as shy when he looks at this Mister Zhongli.

"Have you ever been convinced to stay a week longer?" Ajax asks.

"Back then, maybe. These days, my work does not wait."

"I was planning to get off at Nasha Town," Ajax admits. "Not sure if I'd actually done it, though. When it came down to it."

The pause Mister Zhongli takes runs a little too long. Ajax finds him with scrunched eyebrows and in deep thought. He chews a little too long, drinks coffee way too many times

"You don't have to fix every problem someone tells you about, you know," Ajax says, which earns him a look of surprise. "Sometimes, people just want to vent. They don't need solutions."

There's a small sliver of light coming through the thick curtains, creating a golden line that—for some poetic coincidence—lands on Mister Zhongli. When he stares back at Ajax, the light turns his eyes into amber gems. Ajax is pretty sure Mama had a book with a male lead that looked exactly like this.

"I see," Mister Zhongli says.

He looks a little dejected, and Ajax might kiss him if he keeps at it.

10:58 a.m.

-

There's a feeling of finality to leaving Mondstadt. Save for Venti showing up with a bag of non-touristy wine, today should feel like any other day. Ajax returns to his compartment, sits across Mister Zhongli to watch him work, anticipates four or so stops along the way.

But, in between moments of normalcy, Ajax is packing his things back into his suitcase. He sets aside tomorrow's clothes, lays out his thinnest button up and loosest pants, then prays the Liyuen climate will be good to him. He lists the things he needs to get at the convenience store before the night ends, and reminds himself to look for a restaurant that opens before he starts work.

It's a little ironic. The train isn't his destination. It should be the inconsequential beginning of a long three-year venture to a foreign nation. But, somehow, it feels like something's about to end.

"What would you have done," Mister Zhongli says, out of the blue and unprompted. "Had you stayed back at Nod Krai?"

Ajax scrunches his nose. "Step out, then regret the decision an hour later," he says. "I've always been a little…well, I wouldn't call it just impulsive. More like I make decisions very quickly, then stick to it longer than anyone would. Kept going to the same cafe even as they started watering down their coffee, kept friendships that were clearly one-sided, kept asking for a class partner who's chosen to drop the class."

If he makes a change now, maybe something will go wrong. If he'd gotten off at Nod Krai, word of it would have reached home and his godmother, and who knows what problems that would bring.

"Impulsive and stubborn, but being stubborn isn't bad," Mister Zhongli says. "Sticking to your decisions is an admirable trait. I wished I was as stubborn as I used to be."

"How stubborn are we talking about?"

"Stubborn enough to nearly start a civil war," Mister Zhongli says.

Ajax nearly spits out his tea. "I'm sorry?"

"You haven't heard of it?"

The thing about Mister Zhongli is that it never really sounds like he's bragging. And if he is, then it's within his right to do so. When Mister Zhongli asks, you haven't heard of it? about anything to do with himself, Ajax genuinely thinks it's his bad that he doesn't know.

Ajax shakes his head.

"There's this person I went to elementary school with. Descended from a noble family," Mister Zhongli says. "Still referred to himself and by his family as a Lord despite the monarchy's dissolution."

"That would have been ten years ago at that point."

Mister Zhongli smiles, looking impressed, yet also seemingly unsurprised. "You can see how that might be a problem."

"Oh," Ajax gasps. "The Guyun Stone Uprising. That was you?"

He hadn't been old enough to understand the implications, but he'd seen the way Papa's jaw went tense, and how gently Mama had held his hand. Liyue is so influential that it would've caused a domino effect across Teyvat. They supply half of the world's agriculture and eighty percent of the quarried aggregate. It's unsurprising that news of it would spread; even to their small and far away village, where morning papers don't get delivered to.

"Not by myself, exactly," Mister Zhongli says. "Their family tried to bribe me into supporting their son's appointment to the Qixing. If I voted to appoint him, he would have had the majority vote. Used the fact that we knew each other as children."

"And you reported them?"

"Filed a criminal case against," Mister Zhongli says. "In retrospect, it would have been better if I didn't go public as quickly as I did. I know now that some things can't be fixed overnight. Not Fleuve Cendre, and especially not centuries-old government corruption."

Mister Zhongli would have been twenty-six. He would have just finished his master's degree. Older than Ajax is now, but not old enough to carry the weight of an impending war.

"Were you scared?"

"Absolutely terrified. But what's done was done, and the only way to go was move forward. Prevent more problems from coming up." Mister Zhongli looks down at his papers, more are sorted in the crossed-off sections than ones he's approved. "I try not to be too careful, but I'm told I can be stifling. You would not like me as a co-worker."

There is no obnoxious humor, no horrified trembling, just the sure, unwavering account of a man who's seen things happen but now enjoys the distance of time. Mister Zhongli speaks like history books retell, and it's so new and odd to Ajax.

"Are you sure," Ajax says. "You're not the Prime Minister?"

"Heavens, I hope not." Mister Zhongli shakes his head. He looks out the window, where the sun shines brighter than Ajax has ever seen in his life, and stands. "The chef is an old friend of mine. Should we try your first Liyuen dish?"

11:41 a.m.

-

"I think we ordered too much," Ajax says, which still feels like an understatement.

Their table is barely big enough to fit the plates of eight-treasure duck, crab roe tofu, stir-fried fish noodles, and jewelry soup. They might've used way less space if Mister Zhongli hadn't ordered as much seafood.

"You don't like seafood much, Mister Zhongli?"

"Not all of it," Mister Zhongli says, eyeing the newly-served octopus add-on like it would come back to life and attack him. "Never liked them since childhood. At this point, I can't even remember why."

Well, that's unfortunate. Most of the nice recipes Ajax knows are a mix of fish, squid, and octopus.

"I don't presume to be a better cook than Chef Mao," Ajax says. "But my siblings are picky eaters. Maybe I can find a way."

"Won't I be imposing on you?"

Ajax shrugs. "I may work in corporate, but I have weekends free."

Mister Zhongli is back to his full suit and cor lapis cufflinks, neat low ponytail and silk pocket square. Ajax can't decide which version of him is better. "I do have an unused collection of kitchen tools. Crab shell pliers and artisan fillet knives. An electric smoker," Mister Zhongli says. "Perhaps someone more competent in the kitchen could make better use of them."

"I'm sure Mister Zhongli can afford a private chef if he wants to."

"I'm not looking to hire one," Mister Zhongli says, refilling Ajax's tea cup and scooping jam into it without being asked. "I am, however, looking for someone to play board games with."

Ajax tries not to hold on to that. He's afraid that if he sticks around too much—talks, asks, and touches too much—Mister Zhongli might grow tired of him.

He stares down at his newly filled cup, carefully measured and stirred, likely tastes exactly the way he likes. Mister Zhongli is the only person in Liyue he knows for now, and it might stay that way for a long time. Ajax won't know what to do if he loses him.

"Is this an excuse to see me?" Ajax jokes.

"It is," Mister Zhongli says. He does not sound like he's joking. "An excuse to see you, I mean."

2:31 p.m.

-

"I never thought there'd be snow this far south," Ajax says; palm up, trying his best to block the afternoon sun.

At the foot of Dragonspine mountains, it's only very slightly cooler. The skies are clear and the sunlight's still warm against the skin. What an odd combination.

"It's the altitude," Mister Zhongli explains. "And millions of years of tectonic plates moving around."

"Did you work on Dragonspine?"

"Mostly lab work, unfortunately. It's a climb left to experts." Mister Zhongli turns to their companion, now just stepping away from the stall and with a steaming paper bag in hand. "Xiao's an expert."

Xiao frowns. It doesn't really change his face, Ajax realizes; he's never been in a conversation where he doesn't frown within the first ten minutes.

Mister Zhongli chuckles in amusement, taking the brown paper bag and passing it over to Ajax. "Steamed buns supplied and delivered from an old shop at the harbor. Lines get really long over there," he says. "Ironically, this is the only way I can get the original Liyuen recipe now."

"Xiao didn't get one?"

At this, Xiao turns a little to obscure a second paper bag, tucked close to his side as if it's a relic to be guarded. It has the same red logo with a cute bear mascot. "I have my own. Never mind me."

Ajax tries for a smile. He has spoken to Xiao about three times this entire time, but he seems nice. It can't hurt to make another friend here now, while Mister Zhongli still isn't disappearing into his work at the Harbor.

"An expert climber? How long?" Ajax asks.

Xiao has a look that almost reads how dare you speak to me, but he does respond. "What Zhongli-daren means is that I have a climbing certification."

"He also trains mountaineers," Mister Zhongli says, looking at his nails like he's trying his best to make it look like a mere passing thought. "They start their climbs on Saturday mornings and are back before the work week starts."

"Really?"

Xiao clicks his tongue, waving it off. He glares at Mister Zhongli for about two seconds before he realizes what he's doing, looks away, and shrugs. "It doesn't have to be me. You'll get assigned to a trainer if you sign up for it at the Adventurer's Guild." Xiao seems to contemplate on his next words for a while. Then, as if relenting, he says, "I can show you where to sign up."

8:31 p.m.

-

Liyue is warm, even at night. Ajax's coat is folded neatly on top of his suitcase, scarf now buried under all his things, toiletries out and ready to be thrown out after tomorrow.

They're on Mister Zhongli's berth, sprawled and in no mood to leave for anywhere but here, Ajax's legs stretched over Mister Zhongli's knees. He's not reading, they're not playing chess, only looking out at the dry, dusty mountains outside.

"Something light for dinner?" Mister Zhongli says, the laminated menu in his hand, perched on Ajax's knee. "Or we could get the braised pork. I'm fine either way."

Is it strange to wish you were older? There are times Ajax gazes at Mister Zhongli, on too-busy afternoons swamped in papers and letters, and wonders about improbable things.

Sometimes it's imagining meeting a much, much younger Mister Zhongli at the Akademiya, sharing a table at the cafeteria as Ajax goes over an overdue paper. More often, his wandering thoughts are about getting introduced to a young former geophysicist at a function or a night out, exchanging feelings of uncertainty for the life ahead. He wonders if that would have changed anything, if he'd been motivated to transfer, if he'd picked up a different topic to base his final paper on.

"I wish we'd known each other as children," Ajax says.

Mister Zhongli laughs, a little taken aback by the non sequitur. "That would be impossible."

"It is impossible," Ajax says. "I think that's the point."

Ajax doesn't desire for a much younger Mister Zhongli. Not at all. He's perfect now. Ajax just wishes he'd been there, too, growing up and seeing the world as Mister Zhongli saw.

"I think I've wasted so many years doing things I wasn't dead set on," Ajax says. "I did not dislike them, exactly, but if I asked myself four years ago, this would not be how I wanted my life to go."

"How did you want your life to go?"

"I don't know," Ajax says. "But not like this. I feel like…I've aimed too low, you know?"

Mister Zhongli nods.

"I did not think there would be anything better for me out there. That there would be other options. And now, I think back and see that I did have so many options—I just didn't take them."

Ajax doesn't look at Mister Zhongli when he speaks. It doesn't feel like it did this morning, when Ajax simply could not handle the weight of his attraction. Now, it's something he does to survive, unable to look as he stakes his entire heart to another, flayed open for the scrutiny of someone he had only just met.

He does not notice Mister Zhongli move until he feels cool skin against his cheek, Mister Zhongli's fingers gently turning his face so Ajax has no choice but to look at him.

"You said that sometimes, one does not need solutions, but a mere listening ear," Mister Zhongli says. "I am not offering you anything that might solve your problems. I believe you are fully capable of arriving at that solution yourself."

Ajax fights the urge to sniffle. Mister Zhongli has always been so sure of anything he says. Ajax believes every word, and he thinks that might be the problem.

"You already know you have options. There's more that you're seeing, probably," Mister Zhongli says. "I just want you to know that when you do, there is very little possibility that you will fail as spectacularly as you think you will."

After so many days on this moving train, the clanging and rattling now seems to fade completely. Ajax no longer hears anything outside of the intimacy of Mister Zhongli's voice. In this tight, warmly-lit space of their small, rusty compartment, it feels like time has ceased.

"You will not be alone in Liyue. This is not optimism. This is not an inference of your capacity to find friends," Mister Zhongli says. "You won't be, because I will be there. I will not stop talking to you at the final stop. Do you understand?"

Ajax doesn't know what possesses him.

Perhaps, it's the intimacy of being alone together. Perhaps, he's in a particularly gambling mood, staking everything he has, all in, when he leans in for the kiss.

Might as well, he thinks, then the thought dissipates as the kiss is returned.

Day 9

8:50 a.m.

-

His last day on the train feels strange. The train goes fast, feels the fastest it's ever been before, but time seems to slow around Ajax.

He's slow to get up, only getting out of bed when Mister Zhongli wakes him, would have stayed for longer had Mister Zhongli not ordered their breakfast the night before in advance. He's slow to shower, far too distracted by the now pleasantly cool water in the ever-increasing heat of the Southern climate. He's slow to eat his food, eyes still partially closed as he tries to stab his eggs with a fork.

Mister Zhongli chuckles beside him. "Come on," he says. "You need to eat now so you can sleep in as much as you want later."

Ajax pouts, but lets Mister Zhongli hand feed grapes to him.

"Say, Mister Zhongli—"

"Zhongli."

Ajax blinks.

"It's just Zhongli," he says. "No one has addressed me as such in a while."

10:50 a.m.

-

When the train finally arrives, time seems to stop completely. All the noise that Ajax had once been able to block out or ignore comes in at full force—the whistle, the screeching engines, the foot traffic of the biggest metropolis in the world.

It's humid. It smells of pollution, smoke, and more life than Ajax has ever seen.

When he turns, Mister Zhongli is already speaking to him. Urgently.

"I will need to get off first," he says. "For yours and everyone else's safety."

"What?"

"Promise you'll come see me," Mister Zhongli says. Ajax isn't processing things fast enough, apparently, brain stuttering as he feels a card being pressed against his hand. "Promise me, Ajax?"

"Okay," Ajax gets out.

"Okay," Mister Zhongli smiles. When he leans in, the kiss is firm and urgent, doubtful and hurried, and when Mister Zhongli steps away, Ajax does not get the time to wrap his mind around it.

A knock comes on their compartment door. And, without waiting for a response, it opens to a group of train crew that quickly leads Mister Zhongli outside.

Ajax never even noticed.

Outside, on the actual platform, is a crowd. And not just a crowd, but a mix of Millelith soldiers in their full black and ochre uniform, surrounded by journalists and cameras, which is also in an even bigger circle of people on their toes trying to catch a glimpse of the train door.

The last Ajax sees of Mister Zhongli is him being surrounded by the crowd.

Ajax looks down, and finds what he already knows. A calling card, made of the most expensive vellum, embossed with the official Liyuen seal.

Minister Zhongli
Tianxuan, Liyue Qixing
Foreign Affairs

💧

💧

💧

💧

Day 642

7:00 a.m.

-

The Ashavan Zephyr is a much newer train, no less imposing than its counterparts, but it neither looms nor carries terrible news. It leaves no smoke, no impending dread. Ajax has seen it come and go, and anyone that goes, eventually returns.

This time, he does not risk his experience on a gamble.

"You buy out the entire compartments for yourself," Ajax says. "What changed last time?"

Zhongli smiles, his luggage tucked by his side, the first two buttons on his dress shirt open. There is no Minister Zhongli today. "I told you, I bought tickets too late," he says. "Fate decided I needed a good change."

"Bet you were disappointed at first."

"Possibly," Zhongli says, handing the porter their tickets. "Though I usually just ask to be moved and pay for First Class, once a seat's been freed up."

Ajax raises an eyebrow. "A few cleared out as early as Nod Krai."

Zhongli leans close, their noses very slightly touching. "Take a guess."

As cute as it is, his affections are returned with a very light smack to the shoulder. Zhongli laughs, but steam is about to come out of Ajax's ears. "Not here!"

Zhongli sneaks a look to the side. When his gaze returns to Ajax, eyes full of mirth, if a little smug. "It's been a rather peaceful month. I'm sure the tabloids will be glad they have something to talk about."

"The fact that the tabloids talk about you is ridiculous."

They're still in Liyue, still under prying eyes, but he's not here on official government business. He's helping Ajax with two large suitcases, filled to the brim with Liyuen teas, linen shirts, sunscreen, and books. He doesn't get to show off his impressive tattoos—to Ajax's dismay—at least not until they're four or five stops away.

"Don't forget this. Mama's going to kill you."

Besides their own personal suitcases, they have one shared luggage, and most of it is from Ajax's family. There's a family portrait, wallet-sized photos of Ajax's newborn niece, dried ingredients, tea bags. The most valuable might be the two train tickets paid in advance, round-trips from Sumeru City to Snezhnograd, carefully placed in an envelope with a note that says, I promised the children they'll see you next summer.

Which reminds him—

"I still need to declare conflict of interest in all your classes," Ajax groans. "I'm giving them so much work and I haven't even started."

"A shame," Zhongli says. "I would have been a great thesis adviser."

"You would offer to do the copy-editing yourself. Which isn't negotiable, by the way. The Akademiya pays people for that."

Zhongli rolls his eyes. "If the tabloids are correct," he says. "My boyfriend, too young and too attractive for me, can pay me through other means."

Ajax lightly shoves him again. He hadn't really considered that the tabloids would write about him, too; but that's another wild story for another day.

When the porter finally comes to fetch them, Zhongli laces his fingers with Ajax, and leads him through the air-conditioned halls of the speed train. This time, they're actually getting a roomette, with their own storage space and showers. It's still a train, of course, so it's no Goth Hotel, but it's more than enough.

Once they're in their private room, Zhongli squeezes his hand, then kisses every tense knuckle. "Nervous?"

"Maybe."

"Me, too," Zhongli says. "You will do marvelously, My Dear."

The Haravatat Darshan has produced so many great things, so many great people. It is one of the harshest of the Darshans, and the most difficult to get into. Master's is probably worse.

"I'll hold you to it," Ajax says. "Adjunct Professor Zhongli."

There is no Minister Zhongli, Liyue Qixing Tianxuan, today.