#( slams this onto the dash and then flees like i do with every zl reply )

[daybreakrising]

@resolutepath: "What if they kissed?" ( childe and zhongli )

There is a quiet ambiance within the office at the back of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, dimly lit in the glow of the lamps within, an aroma of incense and floral tea hanging in the air. For once, there is no paperwork awaiting attention upon the desk that sits centre stage - merely a teacup, half-drunk, sitting in its saucer as the liquid within continues to lightly steam.

A second cup, still mostly full, waits patiently for the attention of its recipient on the tea tray beside the desk, where a pot continues to steep, providing the floral fragrance that mingles sweetly with the incense. Golden amber eyes settle upon the man who stands at the window, his back turned to the room - the man who has stood there for the past few minutes in complete silence.

But it is not a frigid silence. There is far less of the tension that once held them in a vice, in fact he might even go so far as to say it had been eradicated entirely. At the very least, it feels more akin to their relationship before - and that, more than anything, means a great deal to him.

As he studies the silhouette against the window, he considers all that has changed between them. He still cannot divulge all the information, cannot answer every question that might be upon the harbinger's lips - he signed a contract, after all, and he cannot (will not) break it - but there is an understanding between them that, one day, he will tell him everything, if he is still able to. Every future is uncertain, after all. They met as Zhongli and Childe; they know each other now beyond that; as Rex Lapis and Ajax, parts of themselves they no longer lay claim to. There are few around which he can shed his mortal disguise, few he can be himself with, without the need to watch his tongue, to guard against that which would give him away. And it is freeing.

He drains the tea from his cup and then rises slowly, quietly, from his chair. The cup is replaced upon the saucer with a soft clink of china, a sound impossibly loud in the otherwise silent room. Then comes another sound - a whisper of cloth as a pair of gloves are stripped and discarded upon the table; a heavier shift as a coat is shed and draped upon the back of a vacant chair.

With easy strides he moves to stand beside Tartaglia at the window, joining him in staring out at the city beyond. It is lively on the street outside, the muted sounds of voices, of laughter, filtering through to this quiet corner. Given the hour, people will be heading home from work, or joining their fellows for food or drink. There is life happening beyond these walls.

"Liyue Harbour is always so vibrant at night, do you not think?" He leans forward, forearms crossed as they rest upon the sill - forearms that now sit exposed to the eye, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. Charcoal black skin fades gradually into a shade of gold not dissimilar to that of his eyes; geometric lines stretch from elbow to wrist.

Whilst it is likely that the harbinger has viewed artwork depicting the Geo Archon before, he certainly hasn't seen it in the flesh before.

"I stand here, sometimes, and watch the people go by." He continues as if this is not some key moment in their relationship, as if he has not just opened a door that was previously closed to the man beside him. I cannot share everything, he seems to be saying with this gesture, but I can share all of who I truly am. "Just as I used to do from the mountains above the city, before I began to walk amongst them. I do return there, from time to time. It is quite a spectacular view. Perhaps I can show you one day?"

He straightens, turns to face Tartaglia, his back to the window and the world beyond. Again, this is a deliberate move - his focus, his only focus, is now upon the man at his side. His head tilts lightly to the side, amber eyes warming, softening, as he admires the way the gentle, almost delicate light catches upon his skin, turns his hair to flame.

There was a distance, before, that he placed between them. How could he ask anything of someone when he could not be himself with them? It would have been unfair - and how could he have been sure that it was not simply the lie that drew them together? But that distance is no longer a necessity. Tartaglia knows his truth now, and they are at last on a far more even playing field.

I have hurt you, he wants to say, and I am sorry for it. But it has already been said, unspoken in the small but meaningful gestures he has made, and he has been forgiven, at least to a degree - else he would not be standing here with him now. There is more he wants to say, too, but words simply cannot do the matter justice. So, instead, he relies once more upon gestures alone.

His hand lifts; fingers skim lightly along the sharp line of Tartaglia's jaw as golden eyes watch his face carefully for his reaction. At the first hint of discomfort, of uncertainty, he will retreat at once - but the slight tense of muscles he feels does not give him any sense that his touch is unwanted, more that he is simply surprised.

Emboldened, his fingers lightly grasp the harbinger's chin, guiding him to him as he breaches past an invisible boundary he once placed around Tartaglia, a boundary that - for the moment at least - exists no more. Amber touches ocean depths as their gazes meet, hold, and he searches for any hesitation, any rejection. Tell me to stop, and I will, his own eyes say.

But no words are uttered, and Tartaglia does not pull away; if anything, he detects the faintest lean into the hand that now glides to cradle his cheek. It is an invitation, no - a challenge. He sees it in the way his eyes relax into a familiar expression, a subtle gleam he associates only with the harbinger's own brand of mischief. Do it, then, he knows him to be saying.

The first touch of their lips is light, experimental, but he is quickly powerless to the pull he feels within his chest. Fingers slide into copper strands as he gives in to the desire to hold him close, as his kiss deepens, as the bindings he wound so tightly around his heart snap and release, leaving him open and vulnerable in a way he has not allowed himself to be in so, so long-

But he cannot give too much too soon, lest this still shaky ground beneath them grow too unstable to support them. He reins in his heart's desire, withdraws just enough to give Tartaglia room to breathe, but he cannot yet release his hold upon him. The harbinger has given him a mile, but he will only take an inch.

Words, as always, are unnecessary, but he is compelled to speak nonetheless. His lips curve into a smile, gentle and serene. "Can I interest you in some wine, perhaps? You've hardly touched your tea."