Chapter Text
you’re elbow-deep in the large closet in your room, trying to make good on your promise to “finally clean this disaster.” with qiqi at school and tartaglia off doing whatever it is he does when he’s bored and wants to be a menace, you figured you had time to deal with the growing mountain of junk piled into the space: old blankets with rips in it, snacks you were sure were expired, even a sock you don’t remember wearing or even having a pair of.
and then, with sweaty temples and aching forearm muscles, you see it, tucked behind a desk lamp and an old phonics workbook.
a dusty, old book.
your hand stills.
you know that book. hell, you remember that book. thick leather cover, the texture warped by moisture and age, with uneven edges and crinkled pages—all marks of time. you haven’t seen it in months, not since zhongli passed it to you after hours with that knowing look and the words, “should you ever decide that you're ready to let go of your unwanted guest.”
you thought you got rid of it. apparently not, and you’re not sure why you even kept it in the first place. maybe it’s superstition, or fear, or maybe you’ve just never been good at letting go of things.
it sits at the foot of your bed now, opened to a page you remember scanning. you didn't mean to open it. actually, you didn’t even want to, but the leather felt warm in your hands.
the words stare back at you. you don't mean anything by reading it. it’s more so a reminder of what you could do, of the choice you never made—a choice tartaglia never asked about.
you meant to give it back.
you meant to.
you should’ve.
"...so that’s what this is."
you freeze, looking up, and tartaglia stands in the doorway, silent and stone-eyed. there’s something dark in his expression. rage, maybe, but not quite yet. betrayal.
your stomach flips. “it’s not what it looks like—”
“oh?” his voice is low, sharp around the edges. “because it looks to me like you're preparing to banish me.”
he says the word like it’s a sin.
your mouth opens, then closes. you were sweating bullets. “i wasn’t– i’m not,” you say quickly, voice pitching high. “i just found it. i was sorting the closet, i didn’t– i wasn’t going to do anything, i swear! i just—”
he’s already walking toward you, eyes locked on the book.
“just what? ” he interrupts. “just wanted to remind yourself how easy it is to get rid of me? just in case?”
you run two hands down your face. “tartaglia, stop!” you shout before you can stop yourself, voice cracking. “i wasn’t going to do anything to you!”
he stares at you in that same quiet that made you prefer him yelling. his eyes are darker than usual, shadows making their way over his eyebrows. “i thought we were past this,” he murmurs. “i thought you trusted me.”
“i do!”
“then why were you looking for ways to make me disappear?”
our hands shake as you shove the book off your lap. “i wasn’t! i didn’t want to read it, i just—!” you cut yourself off. you’re breathing too fast, your chest aches, tight and angry and panicked all at once.
you try to shut it, but he’s faster. his hand flicks forward—phasing through yours—and the book flips into the air, pages fluttering like frantic wings.
he sighs, a smile on his face that conveyed something different to you. it isn’t the smile you’ve grown used to, isn’t the one that made your heart clench like a vice, no. this smile was that of a bloodthirsty monster, and you were one word away from danger.
“so, that’s why you wanted to be alone today.” he holds up the book in the air with one flick of his wrist, eyes weighing heavy on yours. “you were hiding this .”
“what? no!” you say quickly, stepping toward him. “i wasn’t hiding anything, i just found it again while cleaning, and i was going to return it to—”
“you read this.” he flips another page with the book in the air. “hell, you even marked it.”
“no, i didn’t mark anything! that was already there, it– it came like that!”
but he’s not listening. his grip tightens, and with a sudden movement, like it burns him, he throws the book to the floor.
it lands open, pages fluttering, and settles on a chapter titled in faded ink.
“why would you even think i’d want to banish you?” you snap, getting closer now. “you think i’ve gone through this much, dealing with your relic bullshit, hiding you from the kids, making sure you don’t blow a hole in the wall every time you get annoyed, just to throw you away?”
“you’re the one reading banishment rituals in the dark like a villain,” he says coldly.
“i found it while cleaning!” you yell, flinging your arms out. “and you know that! you were probably eavesdropping the whole time!”
“oh, so now i’m spying on you?”
“you’re always lurking, tartaglia! you’re always there !”
the room is pulsing with heat now, an argument hanging on a thread of something more dangerous. you’re both red-faced, seething, shaking with too much emotion for something so stupid and small. but it’s not stupid, and it’s certainly not small.
“i didn’t want to lose you,” you say suddenly, quieter now. “that’s why i didn’t throw it out. because if something ever happens– if i ever mess something up, at least i’d have a way to fix it.”
he stares down at you, expression unreadable.
“i wasn’t going to use it on you,” you finish, voice softer on the edges. “i just didn’t want to forget i could.”
the atmosphere changes into something else that’s smaller, softer, and quieter. then, a tired laugh escapes him.
“you don’t get it,” he mutters, stepping forward and closer. his voice is hoarse now, rough with something that wasn’t anger, but ache. “you really don’t get it. i don’t care if i’m bound to a seashell, or to you, or to this ridiculous classroom life we’ve made. i don’t care if i’m stuck here for a thousand years, as long as—” his voice cracks when he stops.
you blink. “as long as what?” you ask, barely a whisper.
his hand lifts, and he hesitates, then brushes your cheek just once. gentle, hesitant. “as long as you want me here,” he finishes. “i’d stay until the world wants me dead, but even then, i’d still roam the earth in search of you.”
the words crack something open in you. you hate this. you hate him. you hate that you don’t hate him at all and that thought, so raw and horribly honest, boils out before you can stop it.
“i was scared, okay?” you whisper. “not of you, but of what you’re doing to me, of what i feel when you’re around.”
he stares at you in silence, and you take it as a sign to keep going.
“i used to know who i was, but ever since you came into my life, i’m… i’m not normal anymore. i notice things i shouldn’t, i hear whispers that don’t belong in this world. hell, i feel you even when i’m alone.
“and still,” you add, breath catching, “i don’t want you to go.”
the silence stretches taut between you, then, finally— finally —he leans in, almost closing the gap between you, and you swear you hear a faint heartbeat that wasn’t yours thrumming in the air.
“you should’ve told me,” he says, lips barely brushing yours.
“you should’ve figured it out,” you whisper back.
and then he kisses you, desperate, breathless, like a dam breaking. you gasp into him, fists curling into the muscle of his chest as his hands grip your waist like you might vanish if he didn’t.
his kiss is fire and frustration and relief wrapped into one, and you kiss him back with everything you've wanted to say and everything you’ve tried to suppress.
when you finally pull apart, just enough to breathe, your forehead presses against his.
“i love you,” he whispers.
your breath catches, your mind slowly realizing where your hands gripped his chest. “what?”
“i love you,” he repeats, your name leaving his lips like he worshiped it. “and i didn’t want to ruin what we had, so i shut up, but it was killing me.”
you exhale, shaking, your forehead now resting on his chest. “you’re an idiot.”
“i know.”
silence stretches between the both of you, a quiet understanding floating in the air, not daring to suffocate you in it but to let you know that it’s there. a quiet, breathless laugh escapes him, and you realize that you’d much prefer to hear this over anything else.
you run your hand up his arm, loving the way he flinches when you reach a string of veins below his elbow.
“you can feel me” he murmurs, watching your fingers trail up his bicep. “i’m here.”
your hand slowly lifts, brushing against his cheek, and he doesn’t vanish.
there’s a stillness now, thick and humming with possibility, and then, “does this mean i can punch you next time you scare me in the kitchen?” you ask softly.
he laughs. “you can try.”
you shove his chest without thinking and your hand meets resistance—warm, living resistance. he looks down at you, wide-eyed, and you blink up at him.
and then he surges forward, kissing you again like the world is ending. maybe it is, or maybe something else is beginning.
you kiss him back like you’ve been drowning for weeks and he’s the first breath of air you’ve tasted. his hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, threading into your hair with a certain reverence. yours curl into his shirt, clinging to him like a lifeline.
“you have no idea,” he breathes between kisses, “how long i’ve wanted this.”
you melt underneath his touch, knees almost bucking until he swoops you in his arms and steps forward to throw you onto the bed, careful not to lay your head where the contents of your messy closet lay. you reach out and swipe the things off of your bed before your hand latches onto the curve of his neck that meets his shoulders, and he thinks he won’t be able to get you off of him for some time.
still, he doesn’t complain. he indulges you by dipping down to kiss you, hands gripping your waist as he climbs on top of you.
“i’ve thought of kissing your lips.” he moves down to nip at your neck. “biting there. everywhere .”
you giggle when he kisses your neck deeper, your hands finding their way to his toned back, and the sound makes him moan.
he pulls away and looks you in the eye in that pure, lovesick way. “archons, i’ll never get tired of that,” he says, “of you.”
you wrap your hands around his neck. “kiss me again.”
he clicks his tongue, his jaw flexing at the movement. “so bossy…” he dips down again, closer to your ear, with a hand running under and up your shirt. “i might be yours forever, but for tonight, be mine, yeah?”
you gasp, then nod sheepishly, before running a hand down your body to the buckle of your pants.
and you swear the pupils of his eyes got bigger.
he tears your clothes off moments later, indulging you in ways you can’t even describe hours later. through it all, you forget about the book that laid on the floor, now covered under piles of torn fabric.
the chapter is still open. complete soul binding. the tether becomes the vessel, the bond manifests into flesh, and love makes it real. but neither of you notice. you’re too busy holding each other like it’s the only thing that matters.
because maybe, just maybe , it is.