[The laugh draws a slow, indulgent smile from him. Ajax's words come light, offhanded, but Zhongli has lived long and through darkness enough to know when something soft is meant to hide the sharpness underneath. That kind of drive, the spark that flares in Ajax’s eyes when he speaks, the way he moves, bold, forward, always with a sense of momentum that may never ever stop, doesn’t come from ease. It comes from having had to run ahead of something. Or someone.
Middle child, he said. Zhongli lets the phrase turn over in his mind, warm and strange. He wonders about Ajax’s family, the shape of it, the pressure of it. He can imagine it now: not in clear shapes, but in tone and impression. A busy household. Noise. Expectations. Maybe even absence, heavy in the rooms between. The kind of home that carves a man into someone so hungry for wins, and still so good at offering laughter like it costs him nothing.
There’s a moment where Zhongli thinks of saying something tender, something careful.
But then Ajax squeezes his hand and throws in that last line, breathless and apologetic and entirely too charming for his own good, and Zhongli only laughs softly, golden and low, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in just enough to brush his shoulder back against Ajax’s.]
Not bothered, no. Just, ah, pleasantly surprised.
[His tone is gentle, almost musing, but there’s a glint behind his eyes that says he’s enjoying this more than he lets on. He tilts his head slightly, as if studying Ajax anew.]
I see. Truly, like a middle child, you were quick to tease me for being the eldest.
[He shifts closer, casually, sinfully, until the scent of cologne and museum dust hangs between them. His lips hover by Ajax’s ear, the space between them tightening like a held breath.] Curious. Clearly, I haven’t tempted you enough, then.
[He pulls back just enough to meet Ajax’s gaze again, eyes rich and amused, his expression unreadable save for the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.]
no subject
Middle child, he said. Zhongli lets the phrase turn over in his mind, warm and strange. He wonders about Ajax’s family, the shape of it, the pressure of it. He can imagine it now: not in clear shapes, but in tone and impression. A busy household. Noise. Expectations. Maybe even absence, heavy in the rooms between. The kind of home that carves a man into someone so hungry for wins, and still so good at offering laughter like it costs him nothing.
There’s a moment where Zhongli thinks of saying something tender, something careful.
But then Ajax squeezes his hand and throws in that last line, breathless and apologetic and entirely too charming for his own good, and Zhongli only laughs softly, golden and low, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in just enough to brush his shoulder back against Ajax’s.]
Not bothered, no. Just, ah, pleasantly surprised.
[His tone is gentle, almost musing, but there’s a glint behind his eyes that says he’s enjoying this more than he lets on. He tilts his head slightly, as if studying Ajax anew.]
I see. Truly, like a middle child, you were quick to tease me for being the eldest.
[He shifts closer, casually, sinfully, until the scent of cologne and museum dust hangs between them. His lips hover by Ajax’s ear, the space between them tightening like a held breath.] Curious. Clearly, I haven’t tempted you enough, then.
[He pulls back just enough to meet Ajax’s gaze again, eyes rich and amused, his expression unreadable save for the small smile playing at the corners of his lips.]