zhongli x childe short stories

your lips lie, your kiss tells

CW: implied sexual context, post-osial typical angst, but very mild angst and they make up and make out

"Childe," Zhongli pleads.

It had been all too long of a day. The world outside is dreary, with rain coming down by the bucketful. Zhongli is sopping wet, a sight Childe never thought he'd see. His bangs are sticking to his forehead, skin glistening with water. His perfectly tailored suit clings even tighter to his body. Childe tries not to look too hard.

And his eyes, oh, his eyes. The crazed, desperate look in them. Zhongli pants in Childe's doorway. It's almost like he ran here. Funny, after all that happened today.

Childe should have never opened the door. Gods forbid he thought it might have been someone important. But who would come to seek him now, anyway? Signora, to boast about her prize, or jeer at his failure? The Qixing, to kick him out of Liyue once and for all? The off chance that it was Ekaterina, checking on him?

He certainly wouldn't have expected Zhongli. Not after he had so casually handed his ties to Celestia over to Signora, of all people. All without batting a single eye at Childe, who had been standing right there.

Childe, who he'd played like a fiddle. Childe's who'd spent every waking moment in Liyue dreaming about those horribly beautiful eyes, and the haunting timbre of his voice. Childe who was blatantly ignored by the man he had dedicated his full attention to, whether conscious of it or not.

Childe is angry and not putting up with this bullshit. He moves to slam the door, but it doesn't shut all the way, intercepted by Zhongli's hand wedged in the doorhand.

If your average human were to get their hand shut in the door of an almighty Harbinger, their hand would have been shattered, to say the least. And depending on the Harbinger, they may or may not live to tell the tale. But Zhongli was no ordinary person, and Childe didn't have the means to kill him anyway. He scoffs at it all.

"Childe, I'm sorry. Let me speak to you," Zhongli begs.

Childe has learned to read people over the years. It's a crucial skill that saves his life almost every day. He ignores the way Zhongli's wonderfully sonorous voice is dripping with sincerity. And the fact that it is wonderfully sonorous.

He is sure Zhongli knows how to read between the lines just as well as he does, if not better. He is sure that Zhongli has mastered the art of lying just as well. How else would he have orchestrated such a plan, and kept Childe wrapped around his finger for so long?

"Save it, Morax. I don't believe a word you say," Childe tries to snap back. But his tone sounds much weaker than he wanted it, and he curses himself for letting himself slip. Such a mistake could mean death on the battlefield.

There is a momentary silence, with nothing but the rain thundering against Childe's rooftop. Even the skies weep in the face of betrayal.

"Do you want me to give you some space, Childe?" comes Zhongli's meek voice from the other side of the door.

Meek. How unfitting for the warrior god. Childe wonders how many people have heard Zhongli's voice sound this way. With Zhongli's elaborate schemes, probably not as few as one would think. How many have heard a genuine word from the god's lips, that was the real question.

"I want you to give me back all the mora I've spent on your stupid stuff and to return all the time I've wasted on you," Childe tries to spit out. His words are choked with suppressed sobs.

"Childe," Zhongli laments. Childe doesn't let the hurt in Zhongli's voice shake him. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends it's not as real as it sounds.