When Xiao speaks it's once again words that Zhongli didn't expect: first he mentions trust, then he utters such a soft, heartbreaking please. Oh, Zhongli would give him everything and more already, there is no need to ask for it. He can sense the other's desperation, because it echoes his own.
"I'll come see you. And I'll be waiting impatiently for the day." He promises softly and of course so he does, even if Xiao may not remember it. The priests seem to work against him too, because with how busy they've made their god, Xiao has barely the time to close his eyes throughout the whole three days. Zhongli visits him quickly, checks on him, but he doubts the other would remember, such fleeting dreams, just the time of a flutter of eyelashes.
The day of the wedding comes excruciatingly slowly.
Zhongli is obviously dressed all in matching red and yet looking every bit the General he is, back straight and no hesitation in his step, no matter how heavy and billowing the many layers of his outfit. His hair is let down, long enough for the copper tips to reach past his hips, braided here and there, small coral beads keeping it all in place. There are thin golden chains dangling at the sides of his face and through his hair, one that carries a slightly bigger red gem loosely hanging across his forehead, the ruby at the very centre of it. His earrings are long and heavy, tinkling, matching the golden of his eyes, that are highlighted by red liner.
His Yaksha follow him, all four of them, dressed in ceremonial robes as well, their expressions giving away excitement even if Zhongli can sense how tense they are: they don't trust this to go well and they won't relax until it is done.
Upon seeing Xiao, his breath stops for a moment. What a gorgeous sight and yet at the same time, what an enraging one. They all still handle him like a puppet, move him here and there, don't let him even glance towards Zhongli --the General's temper boils under his perfectly kept facade and he looks at each of those priests intently, looks at the way their hands latch onto their god, too rough sometimes, like he's a toy. Zhongli will get rid of every last one.
By the time the ceremony is done, it hardly feels like it: he didn't get to see Xiao's face, didn't get to touch him, didn't get to stand next to him. It is obvious that no matter their fates now being official tied together, they are no equals. He could tell Xiao's discomfort in being led and moved, pulled at the strings as always, when he probably wanted nothing more than steal a glance of him --Zhongli isn't even too sure how much he sees, with those many veils.
The groom joins the room last, that is part of the ceremony too. So Zhongli plays along, gaze following the retreating figure of his husband as he disappears --yet he has to admit he feels anxious, not having him in his sight anymore. So the moment he's allowed to step into the corridor himself, his Yaksha are summoned with a flick of a finger. "I don't want any of them around here, not even remotely close. Nobody sets foot in this wing besides the four of you." He orders sharply and he storms down the corridor without even waiting to be accompanied, while he hears the hushed noises of his trusted warriors doing his bidding --gently move all the priests in the area.
Zhongli opens the sliding doors to the bedroom quietly and shuts them behind him with just as much care. He approaches the sight that is Xiao with slow, careful steps and, upon reaching the bed, he releases a deep, shaky sigh he didn't know he was holding at all. What a beautiful yet lonely sight. Enticing on that bed, and yet heartbreaking in his solitude. Zhongli's heart is stabbed by the want to embrace him, comfort him, make him his.
And yet he's so careful, like he was dealing with an injured finch, approaching slowly, speaking quietly, not to startle him. "To not even see your face during the ceremony after missing you so much..." He murmurs sadly and his fingertips trace on top of all the veils the features below with shocking gentleness, from a seasoned general. He follows the bridge of his nose, sweeps along his cheekbones, brushes against his chin and then holds it lightly, so that his thumb can caress the vague outline of his mouth. He lands a caress to his face and then eases himself on the bed gracefully, sitting next to him --equals, now.
He reaches for the other's hands and takes them in both his own, marveling at the different size, how they almost get lost in his, and how pale they are, moonlight held in the middle of sunlight. He warms them up skin to skin, softly stroking them too. "Where do you want us to start?" It's a rather vague question --does it refer to their marriage? does it refer to his many layers and which one should they remove first?
But there's a very solid part in this question: Xiao's will. Zhongli worded it purposefully, to let his intention be known --from now on, Xiao is not a puppet anymore: he takes his own decisions. And Zhongli will enforce each of them.
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"I'll come see you. And I'll be waiting impatiently for the day." He promises softly and of course so he does, even if Xiao may not remember it. The priests seem to work against him too, because with how busy they've made their god, Xiao has barely the time to close his eyes throughout the whole three days. Zhongli visits him quickly, checks on him, but he doubts the other would remember, such fleeting dreams, just the time of a flutter of eyelashes.
The day of the wedding comes excruciatingly slowly.
Zhongli is obviously dressed all in matching red and yet looking every bit the General he is, back straight and no hesitation in his step, no matter how heavy and billowing the many layers of his outfit. His hair is let down, long enough for the copper tips to reach past his hips, braided here and there, small coral beads keeping it all in place. There are thin golden chains dangling at the sides of his face and through his hair, one that carries a slightly bigger red gem loosely hanging across his forehead, the ruby at the very centre of it. His earrings are long and heavy, tinkling, matching the golden of his eyes, that are highlighted by red liner.
His Yaksha follow him, all four of them, dressed in ceremonial robes as well, their expressions giving away excitement even if Zhongli can sense how tense they are: they don't trust this to go well and they won't relax until it is done.
Upon seeing Xiao, his breath stops for a moment. What a gorgeous sight and yet at the same time, what an enraging one. They all still handle him like a puppet, move him here and there, don't let him even glance towards Zhongli --the General's temper boils under his perfectly kept facade and he looks at each of those priests intently, looks at the way their hands latch onto their god, too rough sometimes, like he's a toy. Zhongli will get rid of every last one.
By the time the ceremony is done, it hardly feels like it: he didn't get to see Xiao's face, didn't get to touch him, didn't get to stand next to him. It is obvious that no matter their fates now being official tied together, they are no equals. He could tell Xiao's discomfort in being led and moved, pulled at the strings as always, when he probably wanted nothing more than steal a glance of him --Zhongli isn't even too sure how much he sees, with those many veils.
The groom joins the room last, that is part of the ceremony too. So Zhongli plays along, gaze following the retreating figure of his husband as he disappears --yet he has to admit he feels anxious, not having him in his sight anymore. So the moment he's allowed to step into the corridor himself, his Yaksha are summoned with a flick of a finger. "I don't want any of them around here, not even remotely close. Nobody sets foot in this wing besides the four of you." He orders sharply and he storms down the corridor without even waiting to be accompanied, while he hears the hushed noises of his trusted warriors doing his bidding --gently move all the priests in the area.
Zhongli opens the sliding doors to the bedroom quietly and shuts them behind him with just as much care. He approaches the sight that is Xiao with slow, careful steps and, upon reaching the bed, he releases a deep, shaky sigh he didn't know he was holding at all. What a beautiful yet lonely sight. Enticing on that bed, and yet heartbreaking in his solitude. Zhongli's heart is stabbed by the want to embrace him, comfort him, make him his.
And yet he's so careful, like he was dealing with an injured finch, approaching slowly, speaking quietly, not to startle him. "To not even see your face during the ceremony after missing you so much..." He murmurs sadly and his fingertips trace on top of all the veils the features below with shocking gentleness, from a seasoned general. He follows the bridge of his nose, sweeps along his cheekbones, brushes against his chin and then holds it lightly, so that his thumb can caress the vague outline of his mouth. He lands a caress to his face and then eases himself on the bed gracefully, sitting next to him --equals, now.
He reaches for the other's hands and takes them in both his own, marveling at the different size, how they almost get lost in his, and how pale they are, moonlight held in the middle of sunlight. He warms them up skin to skin, softly stroking them too. "Where do you want us to start?" It's a rather vague question --does it refer to their marriage? does it refer to his many layers and which one should they remove first?
But there's a very solid part in this question: Xiao's will. Zhongli worded it purposefully, to let his intention be known --from now on, Xiao is not a puppet anymore: he takes his own decisions. And Zhongli will enforce each of them.