No Time Left | Childe x Zhongli

Where The Mission Started

Childe flickered open his eyes, from what felt like a coma. The memories of his dream were hazy ... but he could remember bits of it. Just a fragment ... he just knew he met Mr. Zhongli in his dream ... that was all ... maybe they talked for a moment or two ... but it was just all a dream, right?

He straightened himself up and glanced around. He was in a small ward that had only a bed which he was sleeping on and a table full of bottles and what he assumed were medicines. Where was he? How did he end up here?

With a slap to his forehead, he remembered. Childe had fainted in the middle of the street. Someone must've brought him here. Was that also why he dreamt of that dream back there? He couldn't tell.

Childe's legs slipped off the bed the moment the door opened and a man came in, goggling at him. It was a man with green hair and old-fashioned glasses that he had only seen older people wearing, and on his shoulder, hissing and snarling, was a snake slithering around the man's neck. Childe flinched at the sight of the snake, but didn't dare question it.

The man stared at him mutely for a moment, before he looked over his shoulder and called, "I think he's alright now, Mister! You can come take him home!" The man left the room just as another man entered the room. He approached Childe and took both of his hands.

"Are you feeling well, young lad?" Mr. Zhongli asked him, still holding his hands, looking worried, but before Childe found his voice to answer him, he pulled him to his feet and said, "Let's get you home. Do you remember where your house is?"

"I- I'm a foreigner ... just travelled here ..." Childe replied awkwardly, starting to feel his cheeks redden as Mr. Zhongli wouldn't let go of his hands as though he was about to faint anytime soon.

"You can take residence at my place temporarily and we can register a rent for you," Mr. Zhongli waved this off as if this wasn't a big deal, and they made their way out of the room, past the counter where the green-haired man was standing behind and down the stairs from the shop, which he soon learnt was called Bubu Pharmacy. 

"Are- are you sure this is fine?" Childe asked, feeling self-conscious. Since when had he become Mr. Zhongli's responsibility?

"Don't worry, of course it is."

Suddenly, Childe remembered his job, the reason why he was here. In a flash, he'd made up his mind. This was certainly fine. In fact, it was great. Staying in the same residence as Zhongli would allow Childe to easily keep watch over him and prevent trouble from coming his way. Except how he was going to explain this to Scaramouche, he had no idea. It would probably be best to pretend he was really, really serious about the murder. And this time, he couldn't let straw-hat suspect that he harboured any feelings for Zhongli at all, for the last thing Childe wanted was a mere repeat of past events.

Zhongli carried Childe down the stairs cautiously, stopping at each step patiently so he could take his time, although Childe didn't say anything about it, he appreciated his kindness and hostility very much. He wished ... he could just live with Zhongli in peace ... just like this ... without the worries and fears clinging onto his back, weighing him down ...

"Are you alright?" the man half-dragging him asked, even though he was right beside Childe, he heard his distant voice as if he was so far away ... Whatever he spoke next, Childe couldn't hear him, the voice was muffled as he felt the world spinning around him again.

"Mister?" Zhongli called him again, when Childe snapped to his senses, he realised he was sitting down on a wooden bench with Zhongli, who looked extremely worried now. "Mister, are you able to stand?"

It felt strangely weird that Zhongli, the only man he grew attached to in his entire life apart from his family, was addressing him formally and not his name. Childe found his voice and said, "Yeah, I think I can ..."

God, this is pathetic ... I'm supposed to be watching him ... who knows where that little purple bean is ... he may be ready to strike anytime now ... and what can I even do at this point in this weak state ... How can Barbatos think this is a good idea?

Childe knocked his head and stood up, with surprising strength. Before he could even get himself together, a hand slipped into his, and his fingers enclosed around his ...

Zhongli was holding Childe's hand. 

"Let's get home so you can rest," he said casually, completely oblivious to Childe's reddening cheeks as he started to blush, and smiled gently.

It felt like an arrow had gone through his heart.

He felt a little embarrassed, but in a good way. No one had ever taken responsibility of Childe's wellbeing like this before. He had always been the one working hard for the people around him, making sure that his family lived a healthy life. What he felt now ... it was a new feeling, one that was utterly unfamiliar to him, but it felt sort of nice.

"Thank ... thank you," he stammered, not knowing how to put what he felt into words. No matter what he said, it would be inadequate.

Mr. Zhongli shot him a slightly sympathetic look. "I'm just doing the right thing. No need to thank me."

All of a sudden, Childe felt a wave of tears welling up inside him, but fortunately he managed to stop them from spilling. He didn't even know why he was feeling like this. Maybe it was because, for the past few days, he'd been constantly worrying, almost to the point where he was on the verge of breaking. He didn't know.

"Is anything wrong?" Zhongli asked him, seemingly having noticed how Childe had slowed down. "Are you still feeling lightheaded?"

Childe hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I'm fine." Why did this situation feel vaguely familiar...

As he caught up to Mr. Zhongli hurriedly so that he could walk by his side, Childe tilted his head back so that he could look up at the sky. It seemed to be late morning, almost noon. Had he really slept through the night? If that were the case, he was probably in trouble. Scaramouche would be looking for him, and certainly wouldn't be happy. Or maybe he didn't care at all.

Childe found the events of the past replaying in his mind, the memory of Scaramouche attempting to stab Zhongli stirring up a faint sensation of fury inside him.

He wouldn't let that happen again. He couldn't. This time, he wouldn't let Scaramouche ever see him and Mr. Zhongli together, not even once. He couldn't afford to make a single mistake.

"Hey, Mr. Zhongli?" Childe began tentatively, his eyes flicking over to the chestnut-haired man.

"Yeah?"

"For reasons I can't state, we can't let my friend in the straw hat- Scaramouche- see us together, ever. If you spot him while you're in my company, you have to warn me. You have to. Please, it's for your own good."

If Mr. Zhongli had ever found this advice odd or strange, he hid his curiosity well. He merely looked mildly confused and more than a little questioning, but he nodded all the same anyway, to Childe's relief, politely choosing to keep his questions to himself. "Alright. I'll keep that in mind."

Childe couldn't even describe how relieved he felt. Zhongli was the God of Contracts, after all; he would keep his word. "Thanks," he said. Then, remembering he had to keep up his act of hardly knowing Mr. Zhongli, he asked a little sheepishly, "Now, where exactly is your residence?"