hydrangeabloom | Mafia AU

Entry tags:

Mafia AU

[ A tale of two people leading double-lives and the inevitable misunderstandings that follow ]

[ Tartaglia turns immediately at the sound, stance taut in preparation for an attack on any side. But when none comes, he takes a step back and seems to disappear into the surrounding shadows, the subtle crunch of ice the only sign that he has not yet left the room.

As he stalks around the edge of shelves and counters, Tartaglia does the mental math to see if this distraction is even worth it. Of course, if it was a possible ambush, he should get rid of the threat immediately and mercilessly. But if this was a planned attack, it was a poorly executed one indeed. And the lack of that tangible thrill in the air or tension (that sixth sense that has both kept him alive and drawn him to the most masterful of battles) means that whoever was hiding was probably no combatant.

But the Vanguard still is so curious.

It's silent for a handful of seconds — until the crunch of ice is right next to Zhongli, behind as much as the sitting man's position is allowed. One kitchen knife is missing from the block, Tartaglia having swiped it nearly effortlessly in his vault over the counter. That same knife finds the flat of it pressed to the side of Zhongli's neck, slipped past the serving tray but presses no father (there was no glory to be found in slaughtering the kitchen staff after all).

Close as they are, Zhongli will see Tartaglia's eyes (a deep shade of almost violet in the dark) narrow as he tries to get a closer look at him, a playful grin that had no right to be there twisting his lips. ]

Boo.

[In the half-light, Zhongli can't help but assess Tartaglia's approach. The Harbinger moves with a predatory grace, each step precise and deliberate. If Tartaglia had wanted him dead, he would already be, the knife pressed against his neck a clear indication of the Harbinger's lethal intent. Like a very sated cat playing with its food, Zhongli knows he at least caught Tartaglia's interest for a while.

Zhongli can't help but internally praise the beauty and elegance of Tartaglia's form, the way he carries himself with an effortless power. But admiration does not overshadow the urgency of the situation. He needs to buy time for the leaders, to ensure their safe escape.

Outwardly, Zhongli allows himself to appear frazzled. It's not a difficult thing, either. If his eyes widen and his mouth parts with what seems like fear, it's because he's also struck with how the air around Tartaglia feels familiar, how the warmth feels steady. If his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, brushing his throat against the edge of Tartaglia's knife, then it's only a natural reaction to being under it.

If his knuckles whiten as he grips at the silver tray, it's because he swings it with a sudden, desperate motion, aiming for Tartaglia's head.

The tray connects with a loud, metallic clang, a sound that reverberates through the kitchen. It's still quite a swing.

The impact is very likely not enough to incapacitate Tartaglia, but it provides Zhongli with a precious moment of leverage. He pushes himself away, scrambling to a corner of the kitchen, his back against the cool tiles as he faces his attacker. His breathing is measured, and he searches for something in his scramble—a pot—that he still throws at his attacker.

A long time ago, he had a penchant for javelin throwing. And it shows, as the pot goes over Tartaglia and clangs on the floor behind him.]

I don't want any trouble.

[ The tray does connect with an uncomfortably loud clang, Tartaglia stunned for the precious seconds it takes for Zhongli to scurry away. Thankfully the jagged edge of his mask turns away the majority of the strike, both metals bending under the curve of the other's weight. It's quite amazing, Tartaglia thinks, as a thin trickle of blood drips down his temple.

(So the rabbit has fangs. Aha~! Tartaglia did, too, the first day he fell into this world.)

The Harbinger's first instinct is to lash out— sever a tendon on the heels of the retreating staff to halt him in his tracks. It wouldn't be the first time he's handled a encounter against a particularly slippery foe in such a manner. Those who tried to outrun their debts tended to flee than stand the ground, after all.

But oh~ his interest is further piqued as a pot goes sailing harmlessly over his head; he doesn't even have to dodge the clumsy thing as it whistles harmlessly by. So much bravery and for what? Were the followers of Rex Lapis so loyal that they'd throw everything away just so that those of higher rank and value might escape? Or were these the last desperate throes of a man who saw death approaching cloaked in silvers and reds like a blade dipped in blood?

Tartaglia's voice pitches low with a promise of violence that never colors Ajax's words: ]

Doesn't want any trouble, he says.

[ And yet he sounds so terrible pleased even as he taunts.

Like the tide coming in at dusk, Tartaglia rises, stalking carefully toward his prey, his grin stretches wide behind his mask. It can't hurt right — just a little detour. A fun little romp to test the other's limits. ]

[ But Tartaglia stops in his tracks just as whole picture comes into focus. He knows that voice. Knows the cut of that suit and the polish of those shoes. The visage of a cultured man expertly weaving through Liyue streets now huddled in a dark dank kitchen. It's been less than a handful of meetings, a brief whirlwind of encounters, and yet Ajax feels as if his stomach has dropped a dozen feet as a cold sense of dread tingles down his spine. This isn't the kitchen staff at all!

(Who knew that the consultant had such a strong right hook?)

But then why— why is Zhongli here of all places? Twice tangled in the web of Rex Lapis but left to his own devices (and unprotected) on both occasions. Not someone of importance then or he'd not be left behind in the dark. Maybe not even a knowing player at all.

(No no. Now was not the time to jump to conclusions. Not when he had no way of getting the answers he needed. Nor the time to even entertain such a diversion.)

Zhongli had to leave this place.

Now. ]

Let's see how much you mean it.

[ Two final determined steps and the kitchen knife in his hand clatters next to the floor next to Zhongli's ankle, Tartgalia leaning over him with both hands shoved deep into his pockets. His posture looks casual and slack, save for the soft tapping of leather of the tip of his back foot against the polished floor — a restless energy ready to be honed back to life on the turn of a mora. ]

You have people to go home to, don't you?

[ Is the cryptic question that the Harbinger gives as he stands there waiting for Zhongli's answer. Hopefully in the form of getting the hell out of here. There'd be no one to send Zhongli safely home today save for the consultant's own prowess and the fond smile of Lady Luck. Tartaglia had to get that book. He had to succeed.

(But surely a few seconds to ensure Zhongli did not foolishly head off into danger would not change the outcome.) ]

[Each moment is stretched thin by the anticipation of violence. Zhongli's heart races, and his mind is calculating every possible outcome. He had expected Tartaglia to relish the confrontation, to seek the thrill of a challenge. But as the Harbinger steps closer, his demeanor shifts, the playful menace replaced by something else entirely.

Zhongli stares at Tartaglia for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. For two moments, the world narrows to the space between them, the knife clattering to the floor an unexpected and disarming gesture. Tartaglia leans over him, hands in his pockets, his posture deceptively casual. The restlessness in his foot betrays the coiled energy ready to spring at a moment's notice. Perhaps he sees him as too meek to be a decent fight.

Zhongli is taken aback, his mind reeling. He expected a tussle, a struggle for dominance. Instead, Tartaglia's words and actions suggest something different, something Zhongli hadn't anticipated. He braces himself against the wall, slowly rising to his feet, his eyes never leaving Tartaglia's.]

I... I have a dog, [he says, the words sounding pitiful to his ears but they are the truth. His mind races as he nods, understanding the unspoken message. He bows in thanks, a slow and deliberate movement, never breaking eye contact with Tartaglia.]

Thank you, Lord Harbinger, [Zhongli murmurs, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He takes a step toward the exit, his movements cautious and deliberate, the weight of Tartaglia's gaze heavy on his back.

Just as he thinks he's made it, his foot slips on the ice scattered across the floor. The world tilts, and he is going down hard. Zhongli is already imagining the cold seeping through his clothes as he eventually lands. The irony of the situation isn't lost on him, a wry smile tugging at his lips even as he struggles to regain his footing. Rex Lapis, assassin, leader, don. Too struck by his plans to forget his own group's trap, his excellent footwork not enough to catch him and brace himself from an embarrassing landing.] Ah—!

[ Something inside Ajax violently twists again as he continues to look down on Zhongli, expression perfectly kept as a bored sneer. No mention of his family (not the younger brothers and sisters that he has painstakingly watched over through the years). No one waiting for the consultant when he came home after this tangled mess. It seems unfair— that Ajax should get to go home to the warmth of family and siblings (even if his parents might fear him and the lies he tells his siblings get harder each time) while Zhongli was left so bereft.

(Being called Lord Harbinger only further adds to the way his skin crawls, his boot scuffing the floor in one particularly violent tap.)

And that's where the encounter should have ended — both of them leaving via separate exits of the stage while Tartaglia rolled his eyes that Zhongli did not even take with him the knife he so generously provided him. No preservation instincts. None at all!

Except...

Except—

Ajax sees Zhongli stumble out of the corner of his eye. Sees and knows that he should do nothing. Tartaglia is the Tsaritsa's Vanguard known for his ferocity on the battlefield. A disinterest in those deemed lesser is truthful to him and his character, but to assist the enemy (for on the battlefield, people were guilty until proven innocent) would cause a stir if word were to spread. Tarnish his already dented reputation.

But Ajax wouldn't stand for it. Naive smitten Ajax who had given up the idealism of his dreams so Tartaglia could practically provide for his family was desperate to cling to this one last thing. The only bit of normalcy that he had left in his life. Ill-advised and probably doomed to fail, he just cannot let go of Zhongli. (So he would just have to make sure that Zhongli didn't say anything. That is the compromise.)

So while Ajax would have caught Zhongli around the waist and righted him carefully with gentle touches and soft words— Tartaglia catches him by the scruff of the neck, fingers wrapped tight as he yanks him back on his feet, once more crowding into his space with the press of the metal edge of his mask to Zhongli's ear as he speaks. ]

Walk away from this. All of this. And don't look back.

[ Tartaglia squeezes once, just long enough to steal one of Zhongli's breaths, before he lets go and steps back. ]

[Sharp, talon-like fingers vice around his neck and jolting his spine and his throat with a gasp. Tartaglia's grip is iron digging into his skin as much as the cold edge of his mask, but his breath the heat that molds it against his ear to molten his blood into a simmer. Tartaglia commands something out of him and he frowns even if he does close his eyes.

To leave. To never return.

Zhongli's breath catches, his body instinctively reacting not to the threat, but to the warning. Anger at being manhandled, confusion at the unexpected warning, and a deep-seated curiosity about Tartaglia's motives. He tries to suppress the mixture of admiration and frustration from his face, struggling to maintain his composure.

The grip loosens, and Zhongli's breath hitches as Tartaglia steps back. He stares at the Harbinger, his mind racing. He had not expected this. A confrontation, yes. A battle, even. But this strange blend of threat and concern leaves him reeling.

For a moment, the mask of the Harbinger slips, revealing a glimpse of the man beneath—the one who isn't entirely lost to the bloodlust and chaos.

The idea of walking away, of leaving this all behind, is tempting. He has been trying to retire, to distance himself from the world of Liyue's underworld. The responsibility weighs heavy on him, the constant pull of duty, the inescapable gravity of the syndicate's affairs. He lives near those he considers dear, and finds himself unable to not heed their call should they need him.

Zhongli has tried to step back, to leave the organization in the capable hands of young, promising leaders. Yet, every time he attempts to distance himself, something pulls him back in.

So, maybe...]

I— [Zhongli's voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He swallows hard, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the turmoil within. With a final heave of his chest, Zhongli forces himself to nod, the motion slow and deliberate.

He casts one last look at Tartaglia, his eyes meeting the Harbinger's with a mix of gratitude and confusion. Then, he turns and heads towards the exit, his steps cautious on the ice, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Just as he reaches the door, his foot slips once more on the ice. The irony is not lost on him, a wry smile tugging at his lips even as he catches himself. The weight of Tartaglia's gaze is still heavy on his back even if he's no longer behind him. A few corridors in—empty, somehow—and he pushes the door open and steps out into the night, his mind replaying the events, the unexpected mercy, and the feeling of Tartaglia's grip on his neck.

As he leaves, the cold night air hits him, a stark contrast to the heat of the kitchen. He takes a deep breath, the fresh air grounding him. He knows he needs to move, to get as far away from the chaos as possible—

—and to the safehouse. He cannot afford to go home. Tomorrow, if the leaders survived, he'll be notified.]

[ Tartaglia lingers just long enough for Zhongli's footsteps to fade (good, no one has attempted to obstruct him yet) before he turns and sprints in the direction of Lapis's new leaders to make up for lost time.

Preoccupied with the hunt, Tartaglia does not allow the encounter with the consultant to occupy another second of his thoughts. His pursuit is brutal, both for any guards that try to stop him and for the entourage themselves when he finally catches up. Yanfei herself will probably be in the hospital for many days, her life spared by a combination of Keqing's quick thinking and Xiao's acute martial prowess. It's been a long time since Tartaglia's own blood has been spilled, and he would have relished to see the fight come to a proper conclusion if not for Ganyu bringing reinforcements and her pinpoint accuracy with a firearm.

Tartaglia is forced to retreat with the bloodied book tucked under one arm. But his mission is successful and secured once he meets up with a group of Fatui Skirmishers who tangle with the reinforcements long enough for both sides to make a getaway. Pantalone is even mildly surprised at Tartaglia's success as he does his best not to get any blood spatter on his finely pressed suit.

And thus the all-out turf war between the Fatui and Rex Lapis begins.

Many hours later—

Ajax finds himself soaking in the tub, the purples and oranges of another beautiful Liyue sunrise filtering in through the distorted glass. He's been in here much too long, long enough that his skin is wrinkling from the water and the blood that he meant to rinse off has long since spiraled down the drain. One arm is propped up against the marble of the tub, self-bandaged around a nasty wound on his bicep. He should be feeling victorious and yet that lingering feeling of dread is still lodged in his throat. Not that Zhongli had not managed to make it out safely (a meandering backtrack through the halls had turned up no sign of the consultant before he met back up with the other Harbingers), but that he might not be so fortunate the next time.

But there was no way to even approach such a conversation with Zhongli because "Ajax" didn't know this information. Nor were they close enough for Ajax to even begin to entertain such an idea. At least not in any sort of straightforward manner.

He stares at the phone in his hand — opened to his conversation with Zhongli as it had been for the last half hour and finally begins to type: ]

Hey! Mister Zhongli~ Morning! Did you know Liyue has a chess museum? Well, not just for chess but for shogi and go and a whole bunch of games that I've never even heard of. I bet you have though. 😉 Want to go this weekend?

[ And then dumps the phone off the side of the tub with a distinct thud and submerges his head under the water completely.

Ugh. What was he supposed to do? ]

[Streeet light filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room, but Zhongli's mind remains ensnared by what happened during the evening. Every action, and every decision plays back in his mind, a ceaseless loop of calculation and introspection. Seated in the quiet of the safe house, Zhongli leans back in his chair, responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

Tartaglia's mission was a brutal success. The Fatui's mission, while possibly not the initial outcome, was a success. The young leaders of the syndicate lay wounded, and the possibility of an alliance between the two factions has dissipated. The delicate balance of power in Liyue teeters on the brink of chaos, the city's underworld a cauldron of tension and uncertainty.

Zhongli knows he must act swiftly and decisively, his phone on speaker, quietly giving orders. He's to get every contract that is on the tables, to have his own review personally so that they will be issued immediately, their terms fortified to prevent any further exploitation by the Fatui. Every clause will be scrutinized, every loophole closed. The Millelith will undergo a rigorous vetting process, too; their loyalty will need testing with a fine-tooth comb. Trust, truth, confidence, are now precious commodities that cannot be squandered.

He returns home when morning breaks, his thoughts keeping him busy. There is no room for chess games in the park when he needs to play the one his own existence created. Zhongli's introspection is interrupted by the sound of Azdaha's soft snuffling. The bulldog rests his head on Zhongli's knee after being fed and drinking water and a small walk, offering a moment of grounding amidst the turmoil. Zhongli scratches behind Azdaha's ears, the familiar routine providing a semblance of normalcy.

His phone buzzes, a text notification drawing his attention. It's from Ajax.

A smile tugs at Zhongli's lips, the simplicity of the message a stark contrast to the complexity of his thoughts. Sweet Ajax, with his unbridled enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. For a moment, Zhongli allows himself to forget the weight of his responsibilities, the chaos of the night before, and the questions that linger in his mind.

He types a reply, his fingers moving with the reply that needs no introspection. How refreshing.]

Good morning, Ajax. That sounds delightful. I'd love to visit the museum with you this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?

[He hits send, feeling a sense of calm settle over him. Perhaps this meeting will provide the rest he seeks, a moment of respite in an otherwise tumultuous time. Either way, Zhongli finds comfort in the anticipation of spending time with Ajax, a beacon of light amidst the darkness.

The papers reach his house via Xianyun, who briefs him about his new orders. A few minutes of discussion over tea, and a call to Madame Ping later—who is so concerned about her pupil, he hasn't heard her so frazzled in a long time,—and Zhongli sits at his desk, pouring over the most recent contracts to be issued.

One stray thought persists: Tartaglia. The Harbinger's actions defy easy explanation. Zhongli had anticipated a confrontation, perhaps even a battle. But instead, Tartaglia's grip had been firm yet restrained, his words a cryptic warning rather than a threat.

The memory of Tartaglia's eyes, dark and intense, lingers in Zhongli's mind. The Harbinger's lethal grace and unexpected mercy are an enigma, a puzzle that Zhongli cannot solve. Why spare him? Why issue a warning to leave, to never return? The questions gnaw at him, their answers elusive.

As he drafts the new contracts, Zhongli feels a pang of frustration. With Yanfei out of commission, the Adepti may lean too heavily on him. He's supposed to be retired, supposed to be out of these matters. Yet here he is, once again pulled into the vortex of the syndicate's affairs. Their deference to him is hindering their development as leaders. They cannot hold the syndicate with their own hands if they keep relying on Zhongli to serve as a backup.

They need to be tested, to stand on their own without relying on his guidance.

Perhaps he should consider stepping back more forcefully, creating situations that require the young leaders to navigate without his constant presence. It’s a risky thought, but one that might be necessary for their growth and the future stability of the syndicate.

—Either way.

The new contracts are drafted with meticulous care, each clause carefully worded to prevent any further breaches. The other ones that the Fatui so cleverly exploited are considered losses, and Zhongli orders business as usual. New contracts are to be accepted with no redlines. No exceptions. Zhongli works tirelessly for the following days, his attention to detail unwavering. He knows that the future of the syndicate depends on these measures, on the strength and clarity of their agreements.

The Millelith undergo a thorough review, their records scrutinized for any signs of disloyalty. Zhongli's gaze is sharp, his questions probing. He leaves no stone unturned, determined to root out any potential threats from within. The process is exhausting but necessary. Trust must be rebuilt, one step at a time.

Amidst the strategic maneuvers, Zhongli finds himself haunted by the memory of Tartaglia's touch. The Harbinger's grip had been firm, but not cruel. His warning had been delivered with an unsettling mix of menace and concern. Zhongli can't shake the feeling that there is more to Tartaglia than meets the eye, a depth that he has only begun to glimpse.

The weekend nears him. Zhongli takes a moment to breathe, to center himself. Perhaps a visit to a museum is exactly what he needed.]

Saturday sounds great. 😘 Meet you there at 1:00.

[ And so the week rolls on.

Ajax stops by the empty chess tables on the way home from dropping Teucer off at school, taking a seat on his side (arrogant to call it such when he'd only claimed it the one time) and painstakingly replaces all the pieces back to their starting positions. Narwhal curls at his feet, sensing the melancholy in his owner's mood and knows quiet companionship is what the other needs right now. Ajax is not waiting. He's not. It's not like he expects Zhongli to show. He'd actually be upset if the consultant tried to carry on as if nothing happened. Normal people weren't supposed to get tangled in that kind of bloodshed. But restless hands and a more restless mind turn useless worrying thoughts over and over in his head until they become a slurry of doubt— something that is so very unlike him.

Zhongli is fine. Zhongli had texted him back. It's better if Zhongli is somewhere resting. Somewhere safe and away from all this. So Ajax needs to be patient. Ajax needs to wait until the weekend. Then he can make sure that he's okay.

When he arrives at "work" later that day, Her Majesty knows just what to do to take the edge off. Each night, he's paired off with Harbinger after Harbinger, Regrator and Pulcinella using Yanfei's book to pinpoint where the Fatui had gained unfair ground and dialing up that pressure to eleven. It's an explosion of aggressive tactics to turn those resources into defecting to the Fatui by either handsome bribes or removing their leaders by force. And the Vanguard, Her Majesty's blade is oh so ever useful for the latter task, and he is so proud to serve her. A section of the Black Market in the Harbor and a pocket of influence in the affluent Feiyun Slope fall to the Fatui. The tension between the two factions builds like dry kindling, a single spark ready to set off an explosion.

Yet each night in the thrill of adrenaline (where Tartaglia always hopes that the leaders will say no instead of accept Regrator's bribes), the Eleventh keeps his eyes peeled for a certain consultant or any other affiliate from Wangsheng. As he's re-wrapping the still messy wound on his arm late into Friday evening, he breathes a sigh of relief that he didn't see or hear a trace of them. A small blessing in this tumultuous time. The Fatui cannot sustain such an aggressive maneuver for long. The syndicate is well known for weathering any conflict through attrition, bleeding the opponents dry before delivering the final purging deathblow. And with them now on the defensive, it would be an even greater force to deal with.

He should be thrilled with the challenge (he is), thrilled at the chance to get one more shot at Rex Lapis (he's over at the moon at a second opportunity). But all he wants today after such a grueling week is to pick up the order of shortbread cookies and a single silkflower accented by violetgrass (meant to be pinned to a lapel like a boutonniere to not interfere with their museum tour) and see Zhongli.

He really really wants to see Zhongli.

Ajax arrives fifteen minutes earlier to their appointed second date, appearing to casually lounge on a stone bench out front while he waits for Zhongli to arrive. ]

[The week has been a whirlwind of strategic maneuvers and relentless planning. The Fatui's influence is mounting in Liyue, their aggressive tactics creating ripples throughout the underworld. Syndicate leaders targeted by the Fatui have begun reaching out, desperate for protection. Even the Qixing have been mobilized, their authority invoked to maintain some semblance of order.

The protocols for this type of event are, for better or worse, already established. Zhongli doesn't need to order these targeted leaders into exile, establishing emergency protocols to ensure the safety of those the syndicate can reach. Some disappear into the shadows, their existences erased with meticulous precision. Others have their deaths faked, elaborate scenarios crafted to make it seem as though they have vanished without a trace. The Fatui, vast and numerous, struggle to keep track of their actions, leading them to claim these mysterious disappearances as their victories.

For a while, the city is frenzied, whispers of the syndicate's lenience and weakness, and the Fatui's ruthlessness spreading like wildfire. Zhongli, however, remains calm, his patience a deadly weapon in itself. He knows that Liyue will right itself in time, the balance restored through careful manipulation and unwavering resolve.

The syndicate's new leaders are readied and brought in, their loyalty currently under tests and proofs. New pieces of the play to show up as if there hadn't been a vacancy at all, their ranks loyal to the bone. They are to take the places of those who have vanished, those who have sold themselves over, their positions fortified by Zhongli's careful planning of years. It is a push and pull that will last for weeks, perhaps months; the Fatui's ruthless advances met with calculated resistance. The syndicate cannot protect everyone immediately, but Zhongli's patience ensures that those seeking shelter under his shield secure their long-term survival.

Even if the whispers of a red-masked horror slither through the darkest parts of the city, terrifying so many that even the youngest of children are scolded about the red mask coming to punish them if they don't eat their vegetables. No one is to be walking alone, even in broad daylight.

As he reviews a report of a mysterious death in the morning newspaper, Zhongli pauses. Something is intriguing about the idea, a potential strategy that could further their cause. He rolls the newspaper and tucks it under his arm, a plan taking shape in his mind as he makes his way to their meeting place, a smile tugging at his lips as he spots Ajax lounging casually on a stone bench outside the museum.]

Ajax, it's been a while.

[ Ajax almost drops his phone that he was pretending to browse when Zhongli approaches him, looking him up and down as he straightens his posture. He looks fine. He sounds fine. He seems fine.

(Zhongli must be fine.)

Ajax lets out a little huff of relief, bouncing up on the balls of his feet and without even thinking leans in to press a chaste kiss to Zhongli's cheek. There's an awkward pause, eyes widening in sudden realization before he hastily places a similar kiss to the opposite cheek before leaning back a respectable, polite second date distance. ]

That's— haha! how we greet people in Snezhnaya.

[ It's funny how the truth is obviously a lie, given away even more by the self-conscious way Childe runs a hand over the back of his neck for a few moments. Oh. well. Who can blame him for getting carried away? Nobody. That's who. ]

It's good to see you, xiansheng. I missed you.

[ A beat. ]

And I'm ready to kick your butt this time!

[ Assuming that the museum even allowed them to actually play the games they showcased. Maybe he should have looked that up beforehand. ]

[Zhongli's reaction is of genuine surprise.

The unexpected gesture of affection from Ajax catches him off guard, but it also brings a flutter of warmth to his chest. His golden eyes widen briefly before softening with understanding and a hint of amusement.]

I see. Then I should reciprocate such a tradition, [Zhongli murmurs, leaning in to kiss each of Ajax's cheeks in return. The touch is delicate and deliberate, a mirror of the sincerity Ajax has always shown him. As he pulls back, a smile spreads across his face, the tension of the past week instantly, if momentarily, forgotten.]

It's good to see you too, Ajax. I have missed you as well, [he says, his voice carrying a warmth that thaws the cold precision he had to carry throughout the week. His shoulders relax, his chest melts. The simple joy of this moment stands in stark relief as he chuckles at Ajax's playful challenge.]

I'm looking forward to it. [He waves a hand towards the building.] Lead the way, and let's see what this museum has to offer.

[ He really should have seen that coming. Or at least that is what Ajax thinks as his face flushes red as Zhongli presses a kiss to both of his cheeks. He should have really really seen that coming. Kind and curious Zhongli would of course rise to match Ajax's ridiculousness whenever he could, and ugh— was it possible to fall deeper into bottomless pit that was this suddenly-not-so-silly crush?

(Apparently, it was.)

Not the time. Not the time. He could be mortified by his infatuation on his own time!

Ajax clears his throat: ]

Great. It'll be great, xiansheng. The museum, I mean. And spending time with you of course.

[ Ajax half turns toward the museum — pauses— before spinning round a full 360 and facing Zhongli again. ]

But first—

[ And he reaches up, touch gentle (so very gentle in comparison to his normal boisterous energy) and covers Zhongli's eyes with his palm, hiding his grin. ]

I have something for you. But you have to promise me to keep your eyes closed until I say so. Okay?

[Ajax's touch leads to an instinctive softening of Zhongli's expression. The warmth of Ajax's palm over his eyes is unexpected but not unwelcome. Trusting him comes naturally, and the playful mystery of this gesture brings a genuine smile to his lips.]

I promise. [His hands rest loosely at his sides, a picture of calm and trust.] My eyes will remain closed until you say otherwise.

[Zhongli's world narrows to the warmth of Ajax's touch and the muted sounds of the bustling museum courtyard around them. The anticipation of what he has in store only adds to the lightness he feels in this moment. For the first time in days, Zhongli allows himself to relax completely, to be led by someone he trusts implicitly.

He can feel Ajax's breath, warm and close, and hears the faint rustle of paper or fabric, the subtle sounds of Ajax's movements. The excitement in Ajax's voice is palpable, and Zhongli can't help but be swept up in it, a rare moment of pure, unguarded joy.

A surprise, then. The thought brings a soft chuckle from his throat.]

[ Zhongli will feel a gust of air in front of his face as Ajax waves his hand just to make sure that Zhongli isn't peeking. He's not, of course. Zhongli's posture is relaxed and completely trusting — an act that makes something twist inside Ajax with both joy and. . . dare he name this unfamiliar feeling guilt.

No no no. He doesn't feel guilty. One can't say they feel guilty if they'd make the same choices knowing full well what the outcome was. Guilt was a slippery slope that someone in his profession just couldn't afford. He'd just have to do a better job keeping Zhongli out of harm's way — yeah yeah. That was it! And protect him if he ever was in danger. He'd already done that twice now (kind of sort of). He'd just have to work harder at it.

But there's no time for such intrusive thoughts now as Ajax spins on his heel to pick up his little purchase from the florist. With one hand, he smooths the lapel on Zhongli's jacket just so the other knows his intentions before carefully pinning the white and red bloom in place.

There!

It was perfect. Elegant, refined, and beautiful. Just like Zhongli. The hint of purple was also a nice touch, too, to compliment the deeper color of his coat. He pats it once for good measure to attempt to make the flower look fuller before clapping his hands together and bowing his head slightly. ]

Okay! Done. Now you can open them.

[The touch on his lapel sends a shiver through him, a mixture of surprise and delight. His chest tightens with the unexpected intimacy, his breath catching in his throat. The sensation is both foreign and thrilling, and he finds himself leaning slightly into the touch, savoring the closeness.

When Ajax finally permits him to open his eyes, Zhongli does so slowly, his gaze immediately drawn to the sight before him. Ajax stands there, his head bowed slightly, the copper strands of his hair catching the sunlight. Zhongli's first instinct isn't to check what has been placed on his lapel, but to reach out and gently muss Ajax's hair, his fingers threading through the soft strands with a fondness that surprises even him.]

Thank you, Ajax, [Zhongli says, his voice warm and sincere. He finally looks down at his lapel, his eyes widening at the sight of the beautiful bloom pinned there. The red and white flower is exquisite.]

This is beautiful, [he murmurs, his fingers lightly caressing the petals. His eyes soften as he looks back at Ajax, a smile playing on his lips.] You've outdone yourself.

[There is a moment of silence as Zhongli admires the flower, his heart swelling with gratitude and affection. But then, a pang of guilt washes over him, and his smile falters slightly.]

I'm afraid I didn't bring anything to offer you in return. I didn't think to bring a gift.

[ Ajax practically preens at the hand carding through his hair, leaning in for the affectionate as shameless as Narwhal ever was in begging for attention. Like owner, like pet. Or so it seems.

His next boast will probably sound more conceited if not for how eager to please his expression obviously is: ]

Of course I did. I rise to every challenge!

[ But that hesitation, that guilt that starts to cloud Zhongli's vision. That won't do at all! Not on Ajax's watch. (Never when he was allowed to be Ajax in front of Zhongli.)

Ajax leans in close, hands cupping Zhongli's cheek so his index fingers can poke at the corners of his mouth, pulling them up into a bit of a silly (and coerced) smile. ]

Now now now. No time for whatever that thought was.

I like spoiling you, xiansheng. It's not any more complicated than that. Mmmkay?

[The unexpected intimacy of Ajax's touch, the way his hands cup Zhongli's cheeks and coax a smile from his lips, has him start soft, but easily melted away. The sincerity in Ajax's eyes, the unbridled joy and eagerness to please brushes away any lingering guilt. Zhongli finds himself leaning into the touch in the same way Ajax had leaned into his own fingers in his hair, his hands coming up to gently cradle Ajax's, his thumb brushing over the younger man's knuckles and he titters something low and subtle, amused.]

Bad habits, I'm afraid, [he says softly, his smile bashful but genuine as he admits this.] People keep telling me I have an obsession with fairness.

I can dry it and make it a bookmark, too. [His eyes lift again to meet Ajax's, warm and filled with a newfound sense of ease. The younger man's presence is a balm, soothing the weight of responsibility and the turmoil of the past week. Of any implication of their encounter. To have someone so generously offer him things, somehow that slips under his skin to warm him.] I appreciate your kindness. It means more to me than you know.

[ Warmth begets warmth as Ajax also smiles wider the more at ease that Zhongli seems to feel. Good. Good. This is what he wanted. Ajax was nothing but sincere when he said he wanted to spoil Zhongli, and spoiling wasn't limited to just physical gifts of appreciation. He wanted the other to feel appreciation as well. It was just a nice and convenient bonus that Zhongli found all of Ajax's antics to be charming. ]

Fairness and the aura of responsibility of the eldest brother.

[ Grinning, he loops one arm in Zhongli's and starts heading in the direction of the museum entrance. ]

All of which I hope you don't have a single minute of time to think about as you stand in awe of my prowess over the various forms of chess all around Teyvat.

[ Ajax produces two already paid for entrance tickets once they reach the attendant (haha, take that, Xiansheng! Two can play at that game now that Ajax knows the rules) and inside they slip into a cozy, slightly casual, and ...not very busy homage to all things chess/shogi/go/etc. and adjacent.

Ajax points to a set-up similar to the quaint park table where they met. ]

I thought we'd start with a rematch of the classics.

[Ajax loops his arm through Zhongli’s, and he allows himself to be led toward the museum entrance, feeling a sense of lightness he hasn’t experienced in days. The younger man’s thoughtfulness and eagerness to share this experience with him is heartwarming. Zhongli’s smile widens, a genuine expression of happiness as he watches him produce two tickets, something he cherishes.]

You’ve thought of everything, [he murmurs appreciatively. He allows Ajax to lead the way inside, the cozy and educational atmosphere of the museum enveloping them. While many would find the building slightly stuffy, somehow, Zhongli finds it oh-so comforting.

When Ajax points to a setup reminiscent of the park table where they first met, Zhongli’s heart tugs with nostalgia at the memory of their first encounter.]

A rematch of the classics sounds perfect. I must warn you, though—I’ve been practicing. [His tone is playful, the challenge clear. He takes a seat at the table, gesturing for Ajax to join him.]

Shall we see who has the better strategy today?

Oh yeah?

[ Ajax's fingers squeeze the inside of Zhongli's elbow once, reluctant to let go of that closeness even if planned to re-barnacle himself as soon as he beat Zhongli's butt in this re-match. The only thing more thrilling that getting to be physically affectionate with Zhongli was challenging him after all.

So, Ajax slides into the opposite chair, posture straight and confident smirk at the ready. He threads his fingers together, stretching them out in front of him with a satisfying pop before flexing the feeling back into them. ]

Not as much as I have, I bet! So prepare to be toppled right off of that chess throne.

[ Ajax has seated himself at black again, so he not so patiently waits for Zhongli's first move, forefinger tapping against one of his rooks as he rests his chin in his other hand. ]

Winner gets a kiss from the loser.

Oh? [Zhongli’s golden eyes widen slightly at Ajax’s bold declaration, a faint blush creeping up his neck. The unexpected challenge leaves him momentarily speechless, but the playful glint in Ajax’s eyes soon has him recovering his composure.]

A kiss for the winner,[he murmurs, his tone both contemplative and amused. He chuckles softly, his gaze warm as he meets Ajax’s eyes.] I must say, I don't believe that constitutes a true penalty for the loser.

[Nevertheless, he makes the first move, positioning his pawn. Zhongli’s mind whirls with a mix of strategy and the tantalizing prospect of winning. The thought of the kiss, whether he wins or loses, adds a layer of excitement that he can’t quite shake.]

I’ll do my best to make this match memorable—your move.

[ It really never gets old— seeing Zhongli smile and the flush of pink cross his skin. Ajax couldn't even claim it as a distraction tactic as Zhongli still moved his chess piece with the grace of a man who could very well kick his ass a second time.

But at least he'd have to fight for it! ]

Less of a penalty and more of a responsibility. They get to decide how much of this—

[ Ajax points to himself and then Zhongli before jumping one of his knights in front of the line of pawns. ]

—to escalate. Haha, though I already know where I'd kiss you~

[ Ajax winks. Salaciously. ]

Oh— maybe that should have been the winner's prize instead.

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