i was pretending
(i don't miss you)

originally written feb 3 2022
written for a fanwork exchange titled molten kisses and posted to ao3

Tick, tick, tick .

Diluc Ragnvindr has made a habit of being early, frequently to own his detriment. He sits, now, in an empty meeting room tucked far inside the sprawling mass that is Ordo Favonius’ headquarters – which is a miracle in and of itself. Being inside this building makes Diluc antsy, like flint is sparking beneath his skin, and if it wasn’t for the respect he holds for Jean he wouldn’t be here at all.

Jean had been frustratingly light on the details in getting him to show up here, trading on that respect for his cooperation. He doesn’t blame her, it’s a logical tactic to take, because he is many things but one of those is not denial over his own stubbornness. But it does mean that the sparseness of particulars is feeding into the restlessness he feels right now.

As a rule, Diluc does not fidget - not in front of people, anyway. But alone in this big, empty room, anxiety fermenting in his chest, he starts to rub idly at his soulmate mark – a geometric mountain stamped in gold on his wrist, small enough to be easily hidden by the long sleeved shirts he favors wearing.

As a rule , Diluc does not believe in “soulmates” – he did before, when he was much younger, more prone to the kind of wistful daydreaming youth allows for. But – his parents were soulmates, and that didn’t stop the gods from separating them in the cruelest way imaginable. And perhaps it’s unfair to blame the gods for the chain of events that unfurled slowly over the course of his childhood as a result of that loss, but he can’t help himself. Maybe if his mother hadn’t died so early, his father would not have felt compelled to do everything within his power to ensure he would not lose his sons too, and then maybe –

Diluc does not like the gods very much.

There’s a knock on the door, and Diluc tugs down his sleeve over his mark instantly. A moment later, Jean crosses the threshold, looking harried – as she often does – and sweeping into the room with all the urgency of a woman on whom much rests. Behind her follows a man tall enough to have a direct line of sight over her head, dressed in shades of brown and gold, carrying himself like royalty.

Everything about this man sets Diluc’s teeth on edge.

So wrapped up in his assessment of this stranger, he nearly forgets his manners. He rises from his chair and extends a hand to greet the man properly, a gesture that apparently makes Zhongli smile. He takes Diluc’s hand, and Diluc just barely hides his surprise. The man’s grip is firm , almost preternaturally so, like trying to squeeze blood from a stone.

Zhongli’s smile remains amiable, the entire time.

“Master Diluc,” Jean starts, nodding politely as they all settle into their respective seats, “Thank you for being so punctual. I apologize if I made you wait. This,” she then gestures to the newcomer, “Is Mr. Zhongli. He’s a consultant from Liyue, and the person I told you would be accompanying you on this mission. He comes… highly recommended.”

The pause in that sentence tells Diluc that this recommendation comes by way of the wayward waif Mondstadt calls their god. Apprehension winds the muscles in his jaw tight.

Jean launches into the barebones details of this operation, details Diluc has already gone over via the file folder she had sent to him, thus he finds himself watching Mr. Zhongli out of his peripheral vision. The man is… strange. It’s in the way he holds himself: still in a way most people are not, like he’s been carved from marble, perfect posture, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. It’s uncanny. He is not silent, however; he chimes in when appropriate, offering a surprising wealth of knowledge, more than he would’ve expected. 

Diluc knows Venti and Venti’s sort of “people”, but that understanding does not help him place Zhongli. Is he a scholar? A hobbyist? Surely he has to have some kind of side interest, something outside of his day job, that would afford him the time to gather all this information.

“ – the two of you will be in Liyue Harbor for some time. Hopefully this won’t be too much of an imposition on you, Mr. Zhongli.”

Jean’s voice cuts into his analysis, forcing him to refocus on the conversation at hand. She’s looking at Mr. Zhongli, an apologetic smile on her face. The man in question waves a hand dismissively.

“It is no trouble, I assure you. After all, I did sign the contract of my own volition.”

Jean nods, thanks him again, and Zhongli returns her smile, genial and polite. Then –

Then his gaze slides to Diluc, catches him watching. His smile takes on a strange, secretive edge, and Diluc scowls. 

The meeting’s end creeps up on them, and with it the end of this particular opportunity to survey this consultant he’ll be spending this commission with. But Diluc has learned to bide his time.

He understands, of course, why this partnership is a logical course of action; Zhongli is from Liyue Harbor, he knows his way around and would not look out of place wandering hither and yon. Thus, pairing him with Diluc, a foreigner, simply makes them look like a friend leading another around. 

He understands. That does not mean he has to like it.

But the preparations have been made, Diluc’s equipment packed, and the contracts signed. The plan is set.

So, they go.

Zhongli has an apartment in the city, nestled in a towering set, in an area of the city named Feiyun Slope. Before they’re truly within city limits, he’s offered the option of simply sleeping in Zhongli’s spare room. Convenience is the reason given and, grudgingly, Diluc acquiesces. It’s reasonable, if only to cut down time spent on setting up meeting times and locations.

The apartment itself is nice, comfortably spacious and well-decorated, if crowded by… things. Various antique-looking pieces line bookshelves, interspersed among equally classic-looking books; they also adorn tables as decorative accents – Zhongli seems to enjoy collecting, which another odd morsel of information that both doesn’t and does square with the picture of this man Diluc’s been stitching together in his head.

Put simply, he thinks Zhongli is weird. He smiles frequently, sometimes for what feels like no reason at all, and all his smiles feel like they’re hiding something. He’s friendly, to be sure, and sociable, but in a way that feels almost too familiar for someone who’s only just met Diluc a few days ago. 

Worse is that this behaviour often leaves Diluc feeling unsteady and warm inside.

Worse, still , is that sometimes he catches Zhongli’s gaze, and his soulmark burns so fiercely he has to fight the urge to cover it with his hand.

( Zhongli is an adeptus, and as such, he does not bear a soulmark the way humans do. It chafes at him, sometimes – this fundamental separation between himself and the mortals he’s learned to cherish so. This impassable wall between him and his desire to fully experience the world as they do. That no matter what he does, how he changes himself, rebuilds and reshapes his physical appearance, he will always lack in this regard.

Except… except.

Except that looking at this man, vibrant red curls framing his face just so, eyes the color of fire, sets something ablaze in his chest. Something that makes him feel alive in ways he has not felt in centuries.

Something he wants to pursue desperately. )

( They are not soulmates – not in the way Celestia allows for typically. He does not bear the matching mark. At least, not in a literal sense. But once upon a time, there was a phoenix and a dragon. And that phoenix promised that dragon that they would find them in the next life. And the next. And the next. Because they were in love. And the dragon carried that promise with them, all these long years, in their heart.

They are not soulmates. Not in the traditional sense. But many lives have since been lived, and that promise still burns fiercely where it lays, held dear in the dragon’s heart. 

The phoenix will remember. They will meet their dragon again. )

Diluc wakes on the first official day of their assignment to an invitation. Zhongli requests that he join the man on a tour of the Harbor.

He does not need a tour.

He accepts anyway.

There is something inside him, a mercurial sense of desperation, that settles like a soothed animal when it hears Zhongli’s voice. And hear it he does, as they stroll idly through the busy streets. The city is bustling at this time of day – Zhongli’s careful detailing of the varied history of his beloved city a pleasant soundscape background to all the activity around them. Diluc listens intently, engaged in a way he didn’t expect from himself.

Before he knows it, it’s noontime. His impromptu tour guide stops in front of a lively restaurant, an easygoing smile on his face.

“We’ve been walking for some time, would you like to stop for something to eat?”

Diluc nods, and Zhongli gestures for him to walk up, towards the genial looking man staffing the counter. As he moves to obey, his fingers – wrapped in the cowhide of his favorite gloves as they are – brush against Zhongli’s, and that minute contact sets his soulmark to aching, so sharp and sudden his fingers curl into a fist.

( Zhongli notices. Of course he does. He’s found himself watching Diluc’s reactions since their introduction like a fevered scholar hunting for fine detail in a dense book. Every little twitch of the man’s brow he studies, fascinated beyond understanding.

The tension that overtakes Diluc’s body is unexpected. Curious. He has to find out why. )

They finish their meals in silence, Diluc very carefully avoiding any further accidental contact the entire time. When they stand to continue their tour, Zhongli decides to rebel against this small divide and take Diluc’s hand. It’s nothing special, simply a gentle grasp of his palm with the intention of leading him somewhere, but. The proximity to his soulmark makes it a big deal. It flares to life with such a ferocity, a clamoring klaxon in his head and heart, that Diluc has to stop walking and gasp for air briefly. The look on Zhongli’s face is one of utter bewilderment – understandably so, because Diluc had wrenched his hand back, -- a surprising show of roughness from someone who has been nothing but polite this entire time.

But he cannot bear the violent rush of emotion that subsumes him in that moment. It leaves him clutching his hand to his chest, heaving like he just ran miles.

The amber of Zhongli’s gaze burns.

That night, Diluc dreams of gold – mora, more specifically – and ruby red feathers. Great wells of shining golden coins, stacked higher than he can comprehend, dusted with those feathers that glimmer almost like they’re made out of the gems themselves. They stretch on forever, far into the horizon, lining the walls of this room in gold and crimson. 

When he wakes, he feels off-kilter, like he wants to crawl out of his skin. His soulmark itches like a bug bite; he stands in the shower for far too long, just scrubbing at it with a wet cloth.

Zhongli meets him in the kitchen with a pot of freshly brewed tea and an offer to go out for breakfast.

Against his better judgment, he accepts.

Later, Diluc finds himself wandering the streets alone. Zhongli, apparently, has a day job, and has to put in a token appearance, lest they arouse suspicion. His absence both does sting and doesn’t – he’s still feeling unsettled by his dream and subsequent soulmark incident, and not having the man as a steady presence by his side allows him to breathe a bit easier. 

( There is a small, hidden part of him that finds itself missing the man, in a way that feels too strongly for how shallow their ‘relationship’ is.

But he can’t quiet this part of him. It rails against this separation, making his mark thump with energy.

He presses his thumb angrily into the mark, hard enough to hurt. )

Being on his own allows him breathing room. Zhongli’s presence makes him feel distracted, dazed in ways he can’t begin to explain, even to himself. So he doesn’t. He pushes all thoughts of this enigmatic consultant out of his mind, and pointedly focuses on his job. His first decision is to strike up a rapport with the owner of a local bar – he knows from experience that bars are hubs of information, and libations make for looser lips. The owner of the bar in question is an elderly gentleman, chatty enough that Diluc can lean on his business knowledge as owner of Dawn Winery to glean tidbits of information. It’s nothing groundbreaking, but it’s a place to start.

The conversation with the bar owner leads him to some dockworkers that like to frequent in the evenings, during their breaks from the shipyard, and from there he befriends the dock manager, following these little pieces of gossip until he hits upon a rumor regarding a company of Fatui that had been seen heading out into the far hills of Liyue one night, as if they had business out in the middle of nowhere.

When he returns to Zhongli’s apartment it's equipped with bags of takeout and a sense of progress. The man is home, lounging on a couch, idly watching TV. He looks up when Diluc walks into the room, ready as always with a smile, and the mark flares again. Diluc breathes deeply through his nose, and focuses on anything, everything, except the fire suffusing his wrist.

( Seeing Diluc again sets something in Zhongli at ease. Of course, the domesticity of this situation is not lost on him. It feels cozy. Right. Familiar in a bone-deep way that Zhongli can’t quite explain yet.

There’s something abt Diluc’s hair, his eyes. Bright, brilliant red, the kind that consumes his dreams at night, a blazing fire in the form of a man. He wants to know more, needs to understand this pull. )

That evening is one of quiet study. After dinner, Diluc sorts through what he’s gathered thus far, factoring in the intel given to him prior to departure by Jean and his own intelligence network. Even still, he feels like its not enough – would it ever be ? Privately, he resolves to double his efforts tomorrow. The agitation that’s made its home beneath his skin since that day in the Ordo Favonius meeting room intensifies, so visceral he can taste it on the back of his tongue. Only -- only, he can’t pinpoint the source of it anymore.

Is it Zhongli, with his serene, knowing smiles and gentle baritone, or is it the kind of restlessness born from pursuit?

He very carefully avoids making eye contact with the man in question, who is seated to his left, chin tucked into his hand in contemplation. He’s eying the documents on the table curiously and – there is something so very steady about Zhongli. The way he carries himself, solid in ways unlike anyone Diluc’s ever met before. And he has met other Geo wielders; they all have a level of stability to their presence – but this man is different. Sitting here, now, his presence is as immovable as stone itself, and for some reason it only serves to feed Diluc’s agitation. It makes him want to –

It makes him want to – to knock Zhongli off-kilter somehow, too. Make him feel what Diluc feels – flighty, unnerved, skittish. It’s unfair , the hidden part of Diluc seethes, that he is the only one to feel like they want to pluck out their own proverbial feathers. ‘ How dare he ,’ it screeches, unbound and wild, like wings beating inside his skull, ‘how dare he sit there like we do not have a contract, a promise, how dare he how dare he how dare he - ’

His mark blazes so savagely he bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds.

( The sudden burst of Geo resonance in his chest catches Zhongli by surprise. He is old, ancient like the mountain ranges that span Liyue, it is a rare and novel thing for his element to surprise him like that. It brings back memories, memories of wings adorned with jade jewelry, tempestuous and proud, fierce in so very many ways. There’s a sharp ache in his heart, like a fiery palm branded onto his chest, the burning ghost of a touch. He closes his eyes, tries to cling to it, tries to keep the intensity of that feeling with him with a force he does not expect from himself.

When he opens his eyes again, Diluc is looking at him, crimson gaze overbright and searing. )

Night falls, and the two of them retire, Diluc in the spare room and Zhongli in his own bedroom, separated by nothing more than a wall and their own unease. Diluc’s dreams that night are plagued once again by visions of things he doesn’t understand: mountains looming over him, only the him is not him, it’s someone else and he’s seeing through their eyes. The peaks far overhead dwarf this person, their summits haloed in a golden glow. The bases of these monumental formations are shot through with veins of gold. There’s a familiarity steeped in the air here, a kind of comfort Diluc does not understand. This person – whoever they are – feels at home here, in a way that feels so far removed from Diluc’s ken it leaves him angry upon waking.

( All day, this residual anger burns hotly in his belly, coloring his mood in ways he will come to regret. )

( Zhongli dreams, too, only his dreams bring him a sort of solace Diluc’s do not. He dreams again of ruby feathers, but this time he’s able to touch them. To feel how soft they are against the glowing gold of his hands. Their owner – a face he can’t yet see – is strangely permissive of his… what can only be described as petting . 

The sensation is soothing, and when he wakes he feels almost as if he can still feel their texture against his hand.

He catches himself clenching his hands in the hopes of recapturing that same feeling throughout the day. )

Day four sees their actual attempt at staking out a stronghold. Based on the reconnaissance Diluc did yesterday, there is one nestled in the foothills a ways out of the Harbor proper, near to but not past the border of Liyue on its farthest western limits.

At the kitchen table that morning, Diluc swallows the irritability he can’t seem to shake and walks through the plan with Zhongli. It’s hard to focus. It’s nigh impossible to focus. Whatever this feeling is that’s taken up residence in Diluc’s chest raises such a vicious riot whenever he looks into Zhongli’s eyes for too long, as if it’s trying to escape , leaves him floundering for words more often than not.

This makes no sense, so Diluc studiously – typically, predictably – ignores it, brow furrowed and fingernails digging painful crescents into the palms of his ungloved hands.

( Zhongli is, at times, overcome with the urge to soothe Diluc’s visible distress. A misplaced feeling, to be sure, as they have only known each other for a little over half a week. Except –

Except that when Zhongli meets Diluc’s gaze, he feels like perhaps they’ve known each other for so much longer. Ages ago, lifetimes ago, an entire history caught in the tension between them. A yearning, gradually overcoming him like the slow wearing down of stone. )

Diluc does not speak much on their trek towards this fortress, the night’s aggravation still prickling beneath his skin. Zhongli, to his credit, makes idle commentary about the scenery around them – the history of this small town or that, how the people of Liyue came to settle in this area specifically – in an attempt to distract him.

And for all Diluc’s undeserved, unearned ire, he listens. Tries, tries, to let Zhongli’s quiet storytelling soothe this feeling inside him, like before. Hopes it’ll abate.

It does not.

“Master Diluc?”

It’s not till Zhongli calls his name that Diluc realizes he’s lost himself entirely in his own thoughts. When he meets Zhongli’s eyes, they’re worried. The other man gestures with his chin, down towards Diluc’s hands, which have been clenched at his sides for… he does not know how long.

“You’ll cut through your gloves at this rate.”

Sure enough, when he unfurls his fingers, there are curved indents in the leather of his gloves. He exhales, flexes his hands, and mutters half-hearted reassurances to the man beside him. He doesn’t chance a look at the other man’s face – but if he had, he would see the disbelief carved into it.

They lapse into silence for the rest of the journey, until the fortress is before them, standing in stark contrast to the greenery around it, almost clinical in its difference. There are guards on either side of a security checkpoint in front, punctuating the severity of the entire building, brazen as all hell, as if their operation doesn’t put innocent lives in jeopardy, doesn’t leave people maimed, killed, doesn’t destroy families, doesn’t leave children orphaned –

The simmering fury that’s been threatening to spill over all morning finally crests, consuming his better judgment in a blaze so blinding, he rushes into the heavy steel doors like a man possessed the first opening he sees, Zhongli completely forgotten in his unseeing rage.

It’s almost like blacking out, the way this rage seizes control of him, like someone else is briefly piloting his body. Breathless, he finds himself inside the building, claymore’s hilt fit into his palm.

The absolute shock on the faces of the agents milling about the interior would be comical in any other situation.

As it stands, the fight before him is unbalanced, Diluc addled by the days he’s spent overwhelmed and jittery, the Fatui benefiting from both that and the sheer number of them. But if there’s one thing Diluc will do, despite all odds, is give as good as he gets.

He steels himself as best he can, assumes fighting stance, and throws himself at the closest agent, claymore ignited.

The area erupts in the cacophony of battle, the chaos allowing for Diluc to focus all that energy into keeping himself alive. He throws himself at the closest agent, leaning his weight into a downward arc that catches them unprepared. They stagger back, mouth agape – seemingly shocked that he’s capable of putting that much brute force behind his blows.

He brings his greatsword around, slicing wide then down from above again. The agent’s polearm ducks his downward slash, slipping into the game between his extended arm and greatsword – a hair’s breadth away from sinking into his torso, from slicing through skin and sinew and –

There’s a flash of citrine light, and abruptly the agent in front of him is repelled backwards, crashing into the ground. Diluc stares, bewildered, as a cylinder of immense Geo energy circles him, wrapping around him like an embrace , steady and reassuring, shades of earth and jade deflecting cold steel. And he doesn’t… understand. Doesn’t know where, or who, or –

Zhongli.

A shriek sounds from behind him, followed quickly by the metallic clash of weapons glancing off each other. When he turns to look, he’s greeted by the sight of Zhongli felling a nearby agent. His expression is stoic in his concentration, and his form elegant and practiced in a way Diluc had not expected. He’d thought – maybe he would’ve had to protect Zhongli too, had risked the safety of someone unaccustomed to fighting in his obstinacy.

He was, evidently, wrong.

In the time between the manifestation of the Geo shield and Diluc’s distraction, the agent has righted themselves, polearm readied again. The sound of protective gear grinding against itself brings Diluc back into the moment. He brings his claymore to bear once more, determination taking hold.

Before long, the area is still. Diluc’s chest is heaving, adrenaline tangling itself with the vexation he’s been wrangling all day, heart running a mile a minute.

He does not look at Zhongli. He does not know what he’ll see when he does. And he does not want to find out.

( It’s difficult, astonishingly, for Zhongli to pinpoint exactly how he feels in this moment. He is angry, to be sure, because Diluc’s behaviour was foolish. Reckless. A startling disregard for his own safety. But waging war with that anger is fear – a fear Zhongli does not know what to do with. The man beside him could’ve gotten himself killed, throwing himself at an entire garrison like that. And then where would Zhongli be?

Where would Zhongli be? )

Together, in silence, they delve further into the building, far more carefully this time. They duck into a dark, winding hallway, stumbling quickly upon a small office a short distance from the vehicle yard. The interior is spartan: just a desk, a bay of monitors and a short filing cabinet – but it’s also, mercifully, empty inside, allowing for them to scour for any useful information. Diluc beelines for the desk drawers, producing a small lockpick from his back pocket. A moment later he’s managed to pilfer a compact external harddrive, which joins the lockpick in his pockets. Beside him, Zhongli gathers stray documents into a file folder, tucking in into his overcoat discreetly. Curiosity smolders inside him, but he knows better than to pour over these things while they’re in such a vulnerable position.

He’s already botched any stealth advantage they had, better to get what they can and get out as quickly as possible.

Together they face the small array of security monitors mounted just over the desk. He reaches into another pocket, fingers wrapping around a separate USB key. Kaeya had slipped it to him before he’d left, presenting it with the flourish and tall tales he’s come to expect from his brother: something about how invaluable it would prove later – Diluc has gotten into the habit of only half-listening when Kaeya talks. However – he might owe the man a thank you when they return, because if he has his druthers, this little key is going to solve their little ‘security footage’ problem.

He slots it into the computer tower on the floor, and presses a series of keys on the keyboard in unison. All at once, the monitors flicker and go dark; replacing the black-and-white of security footage is a four-point blossom, lilac and set in a pale purple star. ‘ Experiment complete ’ prints letter by letter beneath it, and Zhongli’s brows raise in amazement – that’s the first shift in expression he’s seen since they gatecrashed the building.

The destruction of security footage is a boon, but it won’t deter anyone who just so happened to hear the discordant noise a battle generates. Hastily, they double back the way they came, Diluc holding his breath that they won’t be confronted the entire time.

As they pass back through the security checkpoint outside and into the humid Liyue night, Diluc chances a glance at Zhongli – the man’s face is impassive, unreadable as the face of a boulder.

Something inside him twists with guilt.

( Night falls, and again Zhongli dreams. This time, instead of merely the red of feathered wings, he is presented with a fuller picture: the back of a person, striking vermilion hair cascading down their back, wings outstretched, incandescent as ever, as if waiting for something. He sits behind them, legs crossed, a cloth tinged the color of rust held in his hand. There’s a whirlwind of emotion trapped in his chest, his heart beating like a frightened rabbit.

If he focuses too long on the back presented to him, he starts to notice the deep gash running along their ribcage, weeping blood like a grisly ribbon tied around their torso.

He does not focus long.

Instead, almost mechanically, he submerges the cloth in a nearby bowl of water. When he resumes – gently, tenderly – cleaning the wound, the winged person hardly flinches. Their gaze remains steadfastly forward. The feeling that’s slowly blooming in Zhongli’s chest can only be described as worry . Worry, because this person means so very much to him, so much he feels near paralyzed with it, and yet…

And yet.

Deja vu is a cruel thing, and it winds its way through every one of Zhongli’s movements as memories – loss, heartbreak, regret, i failed you you were nothing but kind to me nothing but loving and i failed you i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry - leave him halting. The person before him says nothing, despite the fact that surely they can feel how unsteady he is as he dabs gingerly at the lesion.

Zhongli wonders why. Wonders if it’s out of courtesy.

Wonders if its out of pity.

He’s seized, suddenly, with the wild urge to touch – to feel warm skin beneath his fingers, some kind of assurance that, that – that i have not failed you as well - and he takes it, sweeps all that curly carmine hair over one of their shoulders. He leans forward then, entirely on impulse, and presses his forehead between their shoulder blades, where either wing meets soft, pliant skin.

This, finally, stirs a reaction. The person gasps, back curving concave slightly in their surprise, and they move to turn around, and –

Zhongli wakes. Lies in bed, staring blankly at the wall, feeling cold and unsettled and wholly unlike himself.

It is the first time since meeting Diluc his dreams have left him feeling near helpless with longing. )

They have to talk about what happened at the stronghold. Diluc knows this, knows Zhongli will have questions, and – he can’t deny the man deserves answers. He just doesn’t know how to explain exactly what’s wrong with him in a way that doesn’t make him sound like an absolute raving lunatic.

There’s also Jean, who is without a doubt waiting on a call, a debriefing he owes her. Another explanation he’s going to have to give. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to add to the weight on her shoulders. But lying to her would only exacerbate the guilt festering in his stomach. And – and it would be unfair to her, someone who’s only ever offered him respect and understanding when perhaps he didn’t deserve it. 

So, he will be honest.

And sort this mess out as best he can.

Zhongli, to his surprise, is much quieter than usual. Cagey, in a way Diluc hasn’t come to expect from him – which. Who is Diluc to start expecting behaviours from this man, this stranger ( hesnothesnothesnot , going off like a siren in his head) – and it worries him. In the privacy of his heart, of his head, he can admit this much. There’s no real way for him to address it, however, so they sit in uncomfortable, terse silence at the kitchen table, avoiding eye contact.

( His mark is, remarkably, frustratingly, inert, for the first time since the day they met.

Inexplicably, it makes him deeply unhappy. )

In the continuing quiet after dinner, he calls Jean. The thing is, the thing about Jean – she’s never been the type to yell. Diluc – yells. He tries not to, to curb his anger, redirect it in more efficient ways, but it’s a weakness of his. Has been, ever since his father --

Jean has always been better than him, in this regard. She expresses her frustration, her disappointment, in even timbre, choosing her words carefully, calmly. So. She does not tear Diluc a new one for his thoughtlessness. But, genuinely, he might have preferred if she did, for all the shame he feels after they hang up. His saving grace is the intelligence he and Zhongli lifted before escaping – and, apparently, the knowledge that the stronghold he’d foolishly upended was only staffed with a skeleton crew of low-ranked agents. This comes via Albedo, who’d been asked by Jean during the call to do a quick and dirty dive into any available schematics and schedules they had on hand. A relief, to be sure, but still.

It’s not ideal. It’s sloppy, far below the quality of work he typically produces.

He groans, burying his face in his hands.

( Zhongli finds Diluc in the sitting room, after. Head in his hands, disappointment wound into his frame like twine holding him together. The picture of self-flagellation. It sets a melancholy sort of weight in him, a heavy blanket thrown over his shoulders. He stands in the archway and frowns. Again, that need to comfort this man he hardly knows surfaces, a preternatural urge to be the hearth, the home for his flames.

In the years since Zhongli retired, he has found there is much to be gained by simply… taking initiative.

So he does.

This is the first time since that moment in the Harbor, when Diluc retreated from that tiny point of contact, that Zhongli has consciously, willingly, touched him.

It’s nothing more than a hand on a broad shoulder, companionable, supportive. And yet –

It is a revelation .

Heat floods Zhongli’s chest, like someone cracked him open and poured molten gold into him, slow like the spread of lava, and abruptly he’s not here anymore. Not in the sitting room of his apartment in Liyue Harbor – in an instant, he’s on Mt. Aocang, standing at the edge of a precipice, looking out at Liyue’s horizon.

Or, more specifically, at a spark of scarlet dancing on the horizon. Red, red wings, gliding elegantly in his direction, as if this is the norm. As if this is a daily occurrence.

As they near, Zhongli feels anticipation trip up his spine. This being, they’re facing him, flame-colored hair curling in wild tendrils in the wind, and – this is a dream, and isn’t at the same time. A memory, perhaps, consuming him while still awake. The closer these wings get, the louder the beat-beat-beat against the air matches the thump-thump-thump of his heart. He can just make out their features, wide eyes set in a round face, framed by that magnificent hair.

He wants –

He wants so badly to know .

He has a hunch – has had, since the night after the failed stake-out. Now he just needs to be sure .

The person lands then, crimson wings folding neatly against their back, melting into the sea of ruby waves that is their hair, and slowly, slowly, slowly turns to face him, and. And –

Zhongli is jolted back to the present, sharply, by Diluc, who’s turned to face him, frown marring his face, hand resting nervously on his own. And – suddenly – like a gem slotting into the inset of a ring – all the pieces slide into place. )

Zhongli’s hand moves slowly out from under Diluc’s, and towards his face. Diluc – can do nothing but hold himself still, eyes wide in surprise, frozen in place like he’s been encased in amber. His mark is thumping like it has a heartbeat of it’s own, leaving his arm numb, beating speeding up gradually as Zhongli’s fingers curl gently under his chin, the pads of his gloved fingers coming to rest on his cheek. There’s recognition in Zhongli’s eyes, incomprehensibly, in a different way than before. It’s the look one would give an old, long-lost friend, or, or –

A lover.

The mark ignites , sensation racing up Diluc’s arm like it’s wreathed in the same fire he summons to his claymore. The feeling that’s taken up residence in his chest goes berserk , leaving his heart rattling against his ribs like he’s run a marathon. Zhongli leans down, down, closer and closer, until Diluc can just about make out each individual eyelash. He can feel his face flush, knows that he probably matches the shade of his hair, and somehow this triggers Zhongli’s face to take on an even fonder expression.

Diluc’s ears are ringing. He feels like he’s suffocating, drowning in the tension, lungs constricting until he feels his mouth drop open reflexively. Zhongli’s gaze drops to his lips, and –

He can’t do this.

Overcome, he all but leaps off the couch, nearly toppling over the antique coffee set in front in the process. Zhongli looks – startled, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, his hand left hanging awkwardly in mid-air. Diluc feels near dizzy with the uncertainty in the room, his ears still ringing, his vision blurring, and briefly he thinks he sees horns adorning Zhongli’s head.

He blinks rapidly, gasping for air. Not possible. Simply not possible.

The mark has not stopped throbbing .

Diluc –

Flees.

Locks himself in the spare bedroom, trembling and panting, mark still pulsing. He pushes up his sleeve frantically, desperate to get handle on what’s going on –

What he sees only fuels his panic.

The mark is glowing , shimmering gold, like – like the mountains Diluc saw in his dreams, like the great wells of mora, like, like –

Like the warm aureate of Zhongli’s eyes.

As if bewitched, Dilluc rests his opposite hand on the mark; it’s warm to the touch, and finally, startlingly, mercifully , the pain ebbs. Recedes enough that the numbness in his arm starts to subside, allowing Diluc to breathe . Sitting there, on the floor of this room in a home that is not his, a home belonging to someone who is rapidly becoming more than a stranger in Diluc’s mind, palm resting on his soulmark, he is taken by – a dream? A memory? A room adorned in finery, in gold, lavish, befitting royalty, fills his vision. In the center, a bed, ornate as the rest of the room, and in that be he recognizes a head of brunette hair, glowing amber at the tips. He can’t see their face because their back is to him, and.

For the second time that day, Diluc’s face flushes, because this stranger shifts in their bed, causing their hair to slip off their shoulder, revealing the fact that their back is utterly bare. It takes a moment for him to swallow his embarrassment, to cool the burning of his ears, but when he does, he realizes that this person’s back is dyed a curious color. It’s not the color of flesh, but instead of earth after it rains, rich like obsidian, and accented by golden patterns. It stirs a sense of familiarity in him, like he’s seen this exact patterning before, that he could sketch those patterns from memory, so familiar he was.

There’s a loud banging , and the being in the bed stirs in response, as if to rise and investigate. From his vantage point, pressed against the door, Diluc can just make out a hand curl sweetly around the arm of this stranger, as if trying to convince them to stay. It doesn’t work, however – the hand the stranger lays overtop of the other’s can only be described as loving – and the stranger turns to stand. Diluc’s heartbeat picks up again, fluttering like a trapped butterfly, as their face is gradually revealed to him – 

The noise sounds again , jolting Diluc back into reality. Knocking. The sound is knocking. Specifically, knocking on the door he’s tucked himself against.

It can only be one person. And there is a saying about opportunity and knocking.

He unfolds himself from the floor and slowly tugs the door open. There stands Zhongli, brow knitted in worry, holding a still-steaming cup of tea. He remains just beyond the threshold, stock still like an abrasion coast against the untamed inferno of Diluc’s turbulent emotions, until Diluc steps aside and invites him in, like this is not his own home that he is graciously allowing Diluc to borrow.

Surely, a gift he must regret by now.

Zhongli steps inside, with all the grace of a prince, and extends the tea towards him. A peace offering. Why, Diluc does not know; the man’s done nothing wrong, but he accepts regardless. Watches Zhongli’s face openly this time around, cataloging his features freely and carefully, now that he has something to match them against. 

And he’s sure. Sure the way he knows the color of his own hair, the sound of his brother’s voice, the weight of his claymore in hand. 

They’re the same.

Steadily, the redhead puts the tea cup to rest on a nearby nightstand, and gestures for Zhongli to sit down. Unbelievably, the man listens, perching on the edge of the bed, back ramrod straight.

Diluc inhales deeply, rubs at his wrist, where the mark has settled for the first time in days, content to pulse in time with his calming heart. When he feels stable enough, he turns to his host, pushes up his sleeve and turns his wrist over for the man to see.

He could slice the ensuing silence clean through with his greatsword.

The redhead stands there, arm outstretched, anxiety building in his core every second that ticks by. Zhongli stares at his soulmark like he’s never seen one before – perhaps he hasn’t. Perhaps Zhongli is like him, and doesn't believe in soulmates. Except. Except eventually he takes Diluc’s outstretched hand in both of his, cradles it like it’s a precious gem. He looks up at Diluc suddenly, awe etched on his face, a silent question in his eyes. The look makes Diluc’s breath catch, a soundless gasp on his lips.

He nods.

The smile Zhongli gives in response suffuses him with heat . Gently, Zhongli brushes the mark with his fingers.

The electricity that races up Diluc’s back in response makes him squeeze his eyes shut, a whimper trapping itself in his throat. It’s not – it’s not a painful sensation. It’s the opposite, in fact – it feels like something has slotted into place, a wrong set right, a loss reconciled.

When he opens his eyes again, feeling subsided, Zhongli is looking at him in open wonder.

( Diluc’s mark is a thing of beauty, an impossibility, and yet. And yet.

Maybe. Maybe this is simply the physical manifestation of a promise. A contract. Their contract, made hundreds of years ago, imprinted on Diluc’s skin.

The thought warms him from head to toe, fills his chest with the kind of desire he’d almost forgotten he’d known how to feel.

His phoenix, his beloved , before him once more. As stubborn as ever, but Zhongli is accustomed to this. He remembers, as he always does. Their tenacity, their loyalty, their kindness.

Their loving nature, guarded by that protective shell.

He’s missed them so much. )

Zhongli rises to his feet abruptly, dropping Diluc’s arm and reaching up to cup the shorter man’s face again. He can’t stop smiling, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Diluc’s cheeks, smitten in the best of ways. How I have missed you , his heart sings, again and again, increasing in fervor as Diluc goes pink once more.

He makes another promise, in that moment.

“I have much to tell you, my little garnet,” he murmurs, leaning in close to rest their foreheads against one another’s, “But I do not wish to frighten you – the tale is a long one, complicated and painful at times, but it is a tale that is dear to me. If you desire, I can share it with you.”

Diluc is quiet for a long moment. He doesn’t move away from Zhongli, however, and the brunette takes that as a positive.

“I want to know. This… thing, this mark, has been driving me insane the entire week. I have to know why.” The tone of Diluc’s voice is one of resolve. He’s made up his mind, fire smoldering behind his eyes, and it fills Zhongli’s heart with affection. You have not changed at all, my little phoenix.

“Very well then,” he takes a step back, though he does not drop the other man’s hands, “Tomorrow. I will tell you all I know tomorrow. This, I promise you.”

The redhead looks like he wants to argue briefly, mouth twisting in displeasure, but it passes, and he sighs instead. Gives their intertwined hands a gentle squeeze. The sentiment hidden in it is not lost of Zhongli.

They say their goodnights, Zhongli’s heart chanting tomorrow. Tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow, my little robin red, and every day after, so long as you’ll have me .

( Neither of them dream that night. It is the first night since they met they’ve slept undisturbed. Perhaps this is the universe’s kindness for their dual realizations, a gift for finally finding one another again. )

Diluc rises with the sun the next morning, anticipation spurring him through his morning routine faster than normal, then straight to Zhongli’s bedroom door. There, he hesitates – it would be improper to disturb the other man before he’s ready, but… this anxiety won’t allow Diluc to wait any longer.

He knocks.

To his surprise, Zhongli opens the door before he can knock again. He’s dressed in only the button-down shirt he wears beneath and his slacks – the most casual he’s been in Diluc’s brief memory of him, save for the odd formality of his gloves. His hair is still loose, draped over one shoulder in a way that’s entirely too enticing for Diluc’s fragile state of mind ( – he very studiously ignores the urge to reach out and thread his fingers through it. It must be as silky as it looks, surely ).

He offers Diluc a very indulgent smile, as if he can read minds, equal parts unsurprised by the reaction and amused by it.

Diluc very studiously ignores the urge to pout in response.

His host takes the opportunity to take hold of his hand again, causing his mark to hum in contentment, and guide him to a small sitting area in front of a large window. It looks out over Feiyun Slope, over the beginnings of city bustle in the Harbor and the ocean beyond it. The serenity of the view matches the tranquility on Zhongli’s face. As they sit, he reaches across the table, palms turned upward.

“I have something to show you.”

Diluc watches, entranced, as Zhongli meticulously removes his gloves, exposing skin the shade of amber gradually growing brighter and brighter until he’s shed them fully, revealing the glowing length of his fingers.

His stupefaction allows Zhongli the opportunity to – lovingly – take hold of his wrist, turn it over so he can rest his palm over Diluc’s soulmark, eyes closing.

Softly, warmly, Zhongli begins to spin their tale.

(“ Once, many, many years ago, there was a dragon. This dragon had been fighting for a long, long time. At times, it felt like it would never end. The fighting had taken much from them, and that loss they wore like an albatross around their neck. In desperation for a reprieve, they began to wander, when time permitted. Here and there, in the hopes of finding solace.

One day, they stumbled upon a creature. A bird, in brilliant red and orange hues, fire bound in the shape of a beast.

A phoenix.

The bird was injured – caught in a human’s trap by accident. The dragon felt compelled to help this creature, and thus freed it from the trap. ‘Thank you,’ the phoenix trilled, flexing it’s wingspan in relief, ‘I will repay you for this one day. I swear it.’ And with that promise, the bird took flight.

Even back then, such creatures were a rarity. Their population ravaged by the war, they were now few and far between – chancing upon one like this was auspicious, despite the circumstances surrounding the encounter.

Perhaps, the dragon mused, this was a sign.

It is many months before either are to see the other again.

They are reunited in Jueyun Karst, on a sunny summer’s day. The dragon had been allowed respite, however briefly, and had chosen to take a walk in the heart of the adepti’s home. There, amongst the foliage, was the phoenix, perched in a tree, watching the other animals putter around. At first, the dragon hesitated – perhaps they did not intend to be approached in this moment, perhaps this was simply an second of private solitude, perhaps –

The phoenix looked up, then, and they met each other’s gaze.

In that instant, it was like something snapped into place.

The phoenix assumed a human form, to match the form the dragon has approached them in today. A human body, skin kissed tan by the sun, with long, scarlet hair and matching eyes, wide and guileless. They explained that they were from a neighbouring nation – it had been simple folly that landed them in the dragon’s home, in that trap. This is said with a grimace, as if they cannot believe their own foolishness.

It made the dragon laugh.

This becomes their norm. The phoenix was prone to exploring far and wide, lending their aid to humans when they ask – because what else are phoenixes born to do but care for the people in their charge? – and when their work was done for the time being, they would seek the dragon out. Together, they would sit in the warmth of the dragon’s abode, sharing meals and talking well into the night, hands laid overtop of each other’s, innocent and fond. Occasionally, when time granted, the dragon would take them around Liyue, sharing places of importance. The phoenix’s presence brought the dragon calm, the companionship they’ve ached for since, since –

The dragon was grateful.

There came a day when the phoenix forewent their adventures, just for that day. They met the dragon at their abode as a surprise. ‘I must ask you something important,’ they said, talons tangled in their hair. It was an odd gesture – the dragon had never known their little bird to be the nervous sort before. The dragon gestured for them to continue, and the phoenix hesitated for the briefest moment before straightening their posture and meeting the dragon’s gaze.

‘What are your intentions with me?’

This caught the dragon off-guard. They had no designs in mind – for the first time in quite a while, they had been content to simply… go with the flow. To follow the phoenix’s lead, and see where it took them.

Clearly, that journey had come to a juncture.

‘I have none such. Is there something you had in mind…?’

That was the wrong answer, apparently. The phoenix huffed, and marched forward to jab one long talon into the dragon’s chest, ‘Then your intention is to continue idly speaking with me? To continue to monopolize my time with no promise of a future? You are so selfish?’ 

Selfish? They had not considered… 

‘Is this typically how one courts others? With ambiguity?’

The dragon had not once thought of this. Of courtship. But – 

All at once, the hours, days, weeks past caught up with them – the quiet moments spent savoring each other’s company, the chaste touches, the pining, the hope – 

‘Then… you would like to be courted?’ the dragon ventured. The phoenix, cheeks dusted pink, nodded.

‘Then I shall court you properly.’

Thus began a long and slow courtship. Neither seemed to be in a rush; now that their misunderstanding was resolved, they fell into an easy companionship. Truly, nothing significant changed save for the increase in outright affection. Theirs was an undemanding peace, comforting in how consistent it was.

Then, once more, the world began to change – this is what war does, you see. It takes and tears and rends twain what was once whole. The nation was plunged into renewed fighting, and out of loyalty the dragon’s precious bird joined the fray.

Had the dragon had the foresight, they would have forbidden it. Already, they had lost much. Already, the fighting had taken from them someone they held so very dear. Reliving that pain would be impossible to bear.

Of course, this is how the powers that be deigned to have their fates play out.

There was a particular battle, the phoenix joining their beloved dragon on the field, as they always had. The hope was that this battle went smoothly – that it would be an easy triumph, and soon they would retire to their shared abode.

They are not so fortunate.

There was a particular enemy combatant - their weapon caught the phoenix’s wing along the bone, shattering it with the force of the blow. The ensuing screech… it is something the dragon hears, sometimes, in their sleep, to this day. But, as you expect, the phoenix plummeted to the ground, landing among the bodies strewn on the field. They were not dead – gravely injured, but not dead. The dragon, driven by fear, attempted to rush to their side.

They are stopped. By the bulk of the enemy’s force coming to bear against them. They are, in terms of strength, not a match for the dragon, but that was not the point.

It was a distraction.

As the dragon tore through them, one lone combatant - the same as the one that felled the phoenix - picked their way through the bodies, making their way slowly to where the phoenix struggled to stand. This solider, brazen as can be, looked up, met the dragon’s eyes –

- then… plunged a sword into the phoenix’s side.

The dragon roared .

The memories are… difficult, after that. Snatches of scenes, of the dragon cradling the body of their dearest little bird, of the phoenix’s hand, in turn, cradling the dragon’s face, of a promise, whispered between two lovers.

‘I swear to you, Morax, I will come back. I will find you again. Promise me… promise me that when I do, you’ll love me again. In my next life.’

‘I promise, my darling firefly. In that life, and the next, and the one after that.’ ")

When he finishes talking, Zhongli opens his eyes, looks out into Liyue’s horizon. There’s an abstracted sorrow on his face, matching the mournfulness that’s taken up residence in Diluc. It’s unfair , he thinks, that he cannot remember the way Zhongli can. His memories are scattered, small samples of time, little intimate moments, fleeting and unclear.

Zhongli remembers everything.

It’s cruel, he thinks, that this gentle soul be saddled with all that feeling.

The redhead looks down, at the table. Throughout the story, Zhongli’s thumb has been rubbing over Diluc’s soulmark, every pass sending shivers down Diluc’s spine and a spark of tenderness through Zhongli’s chest. It’s novel and routine at the same time.

( Zhongli does not have a mark; he has echoes of moments branded onto his heart in flame. A contract written in devotion.

Still, it brings him joy to touch Diluc’s mark, to feel the symbol of their promise on his skin. )

They talk well into the afternoon, of promises and dreams and their future, holding hands the entire time. Diluc is afraid, understandably so. This history Zhongli shared – it feels much larger than himself, too big for him to live up to... but.

But Zhongli is patient. He wants this, wants his phoenix back, so long as Diluc is willing to try. It doesn’t matter to him how long it takes.

“I will be by your side, my flame, every step of the way.”

Diluc swallows thickly, looks down at their hands again, at the supernatural gleam of Zhongli’s skin against the very human shade of his own.

He takes a deep breath. Nods once. 

“I want to, then. To try, I mean. If… if you’ll stay with me.”

The grin Zhongli gives him is blinding .

And so, the other man lifts Diluc’s wrist to his mouth, presses his lips against the mark, reverent, fond. The contact sinks into the redhead’s bones, leaving him aching. A craving that claws at him, makes him lightheaded. 

On instinct, he reaches across the table, twisting his fingers into the short strands at the back of Zhongli’s head, and yanks him forward with enough force to crash their lips together. It’s not the finest kiss Diluc’s ever given, too clumsy and uncoordinated, but the way Zhongli hums against his mouth tells him it doesn’t matter. That this fills him with the same sort of satisfaction Diluc can feel relaxing him muscles.

He doesn’t know what the future will hold, doesn’t know if trying to rekindling this past of theirs will work, but he’s willing to try. For Zhongli, for this man who has lost so much an managed to stay so hopeful, he will try.

They will try, together.