Xiangling opens the restaurant one morning to a pile of letters slipped in through the mail slot. She grumbles, bending over and grunting. "Stiff joints," she mutters as she swipes the mail from the floor before straightening herself with a wince.

Work hazard. She spends her days flitting about with heavy trays of food or bending over her trusty cast iron wok. It's all worth it, though, to see the smiling faces of her beloved customers.

"Bill," she murmurs, tossing the first envelope to the side. "Bill, bill—Gods, I need to talk to Dad about going paperless." More shuffling.

And then she stops, head tilted to the side. "Oh? What's this?"

The envelope is embossed with a stamped pattern. She recognizes Childe's handwriting anywhere. He always left her silly notes alongside his tips. It's been a while since she's seen him but not concerningly long. She's just assumed that he's delegated his free time to his handsome new beau.

Xiangling approves of Zhongli, of course, her mouth curling into a smile. Most would find the two of them wholly opposite but they're more alike than most would give them credit for. "Butter and bread," she muses, sticking her finger into the envelope to rip it open.

Xiangling—

Okay, I can feel that scowl from here. I know it's been a while since I've been in but I have a good reason—honest!

I'm sure you've seen the news but Zhongli has retired. Yada, yada, biggest mogul under forty; the press can't keep their grimy hands off him. He's been complaining about the media spotlight since that damn dinner and I don't blame him. He needed a break. I needed a break. And so that's what we're doing—we're taking a break!

I should've warned you. I could've texted you. I know you're rolling your eyes at me—

Xiangling is, and she shorts with laughter as she smooths out the rest of the letter.

Anyway, I won't bore you with the details of where we are—not because I don't trust you but because I'm pretty sure paparazzi are snooping on my mail. I just hope this doesn't get stolen before you read it. All you need to know is that it's a beach.

Too hot and sandy. I'm boiling, Xiangling. Literally dying here—and Zhongli? The asshole doesn't even burn! Meanwhile, I'm slathered from head to toe on sunscreen like an oily eel, which is definitely not attractive. Point is: we're enjoying ourselves.

It's been months since we left Liyue. Turns out that Zhongli has this, like, bucket list of destinations so we've just been hitting them up one by one. What a rich person thing to do, which I'd know first hand. Oh yeah, I guess I should tell you about that.

Zhongli is different out here—but in a good way. Relaxed. Toned down. Still his proper self but he's worn down around the edges. I don't think he realized just how exhausted his work made him.

She turns to the next page of the letter and a small picture flutters into her lap. Xiangling smiles when she sees the two of them in what looks like Fontaine, Childe tucked against Zhongli's side. Childe looks at the camera but Zhongli looks at him, his gaze soft, lips upturned just slightly.

As if Childe's the only thing in the world, hair ruffling his bangs softly, cheeks tinged pink in the colder weather.

"Shit, get a room, why don't you?"

And then another detail catches her eye. Childe's hand rests against Zhongli's chest, the glint of a gold band glittering on his finger. "EEEH???" Zhongli has an arm around Childe's waist, a ring settled there too. Both are plain and boring but obvious enough to be noticed.

"Oh, don't tell me you eloped." Xiangling so rarely is angry, but annoyance burns through her core. "How could you not tell me? We made a pact, Childe—a pact! I was going to cater your wedding!"

To be fair, it was a pact made one night when Xiangling was bartending and Childe was in a slump. He got blitzed, she was a little tipsy, and their agreement was made on the drunken whims of dreams. Childe wholeheartedly thought he was never going to get married which made Xiangling promise him he would, and that she'd catered the damn thing herself.

Mostly jest. All good fun.

Until he eloped.

Exasperated, she drops the letter to the counter. "Nope, that's enough for today, mister. You'll be getting one angry fucking phone call from me later."

The letter flutters against the tile as she walks away, penned with curling letters of love and devotion that go a little like this:

Xiangling, I don't think I can express how much I love this idiot. And yeah, you'll be pissed when you see the picture but it wasn't expected. We were walking through the shopping district here and there was a jewelry shop. It just seems right. Marrying him. We'll have a ceremony for everyone else later—for now, this is all I want.

I'm happy. Like, actually, truly happy. With Zhongli, it's like everything else melts away, and that's what love is supposed to be like, right? At least that's the sappy shit he likes to drone on about. It made me laugh until that day when I saw the rings, and it just clicked.

I thought it'd be a heavy weight—this ring—but it just feels like my heart's going to float away.

Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well. I'll be good and text, okay?

Signed, sealed, and delivered—

Ajax Tartaglia