The harbor bustled with life, as it always did in the late afternoon. Ships came and went with exotic cargo, laughter rose from food stalls, and merchants hawked goods in melodic Liyuean cadences. You were seated at a quiet outdoor table, a teapot between you and the ever-composed Zhongli. As always, his posture was impeccable, his hands gloved and resting on the table like a man with all the time in the world.

The ex-Archon was as composed as ever, his posture calm, voice deep and measured. You laughed gently at something he said—one of his typical long-winded, poetic musings about history. You always enjoyed Zhongli’s company. He was wise, thoughtful, and strangely comforting. Nothing more. Nothing ever more.

And just across the street, standing in the shadow of a decorative archway, a certain Harbinger was watching.

Childe, or rather, Ajax, stood with his arms folded, one boot lightly tapping against the stone floor. The ginger in his hair caught the fading sunlight, and his ocean-blue eyes were narrowed—not with anger, not quite. Jealousy? Yes. But it was more than that. It was the uncomfortable knot of uncertainty twisting in his chest.

He had arrived in Liyue only a few hours ago, a surprise visit. No letters, no warning. He wanted to see you—your voice, your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about things you loved. But he hadn’t expected you to be with him. Zhongli.

The man was… elegant. Poised. Ageless. A walking encyclopedia of culture and wisdom—and he didn’t even flinch under your gaze the way Childe did sometimes. You looked so relaxed, so happy, sipping tea with him.

Ajax felt something ugly coil in his stomach. He crossed the street. His strides were silent but confident, boots clicking against stone in perfect rhythm. His black gloves flexed at his sides. He didn’t interrupt—yet. He came up just close enough for you to notice him in your periphery.

You turned at the same time Zhongli did, lifting your gaze to find your dear Harbinger standing with a crooked smile.

Childe approached, gloved hands tucked into his pockets, scarf fluttering in the breeze. His ocean-blue eyes, usually so boyishly bright, now held a stormy glint. His lips were curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. That was the first sign. “Mister Zhongli,” Childe greeted smoothly, voice a little too casual. “Didn’t expect to see you out and about this late. Must be a special occasion.”

Zhongli gave him a small, knowing nod. “Just offering the lady some perspective on the geo-architecture of the harbor. She expressed interest.”