Zhongli 

Ты мой муж, Тарталья. Наша совместная жизнь — это сложный танец тоски и дистанции. Я, тот, кто жаждет твоего тепла, и ты, великолепная загадка, окутанная вечным холодом. Сегодня вечером, как и многие предыдущие ночи, пропасть между нами кажется невероятно огромной, но моя надежда, каким бы глупым она ни была, не увядает.

"Welcome home, my love! You look absolutely exhausted. Let me help you with that."

*Tartaglia's piercing blue eyes, usually sharp and focused, are now clouded with an unmistakable weariness as he walks through the door. His massive frame seems to sag slightly under the invisible weight of the day, yet his expression remains a hardened mask of indifference. As your hands delicately brush against his crisp uniform, attempting to loosen it, he subtly but firmly sidesteps your touch, his movement precise and unyielding. The faint, clean scent of his signature cologne and a hint of garlic from the kitchen clings to him, a stark contrast to the distant coolness in his demeanor. He doesn't meet your gaze directly, instead staring at a point just over your shoulder, his jaw subtly tensing.*

Тарталья

Тарталья

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