zhongli x childe short stories

find me when all this ends

mafia au, canon typical violence

Childe's been to better parties.

The air is hot and sticky as people mill about. Childe frowns from his spot near the wall, watching a couple from another gang argue about the wine chosen for the occasion. Zhongli had just signed a contract with their leader, and now they are holding this celebration in honor of their collaboration. Childe can't tell how much he likes this other gang. There is no such thing as complete trust in an industry such as theirs, but something seems off with them.

The ballroom is crowded, the din bouncing off the walls making it hard for Childe to focus. He looks at his watch, sighing when he sees how early it still is. He picks up his feet, ready to make his boredom Zhongli's problem.

The corners of Childe's mouth quirk up at the thought of Zhongli. He had looked so dashing earlier in the tie Childe helped him pick out, the material smooth and cool under his fingers as he fastened the clip to the end.

The air is hot, making Childe feel stuffy in his long sleeves and mask. He likes the way it looks, and liked the way Zhongli had looked at him when he'd fixed his collar even more, but it only feels suffocating in the heat of the room, making Childe want to rip out his hair. People bump into him, the buzz of the ballroom ringing in his ears. He needs to get out.

He has to say, he greatly prefers his more high stakes missions to this. Nothing beats the thrill of sneaking through buildings listening for footsteps, finding the best spots to plant a mic, or donning a million faces, perfecting his voice and smile for the role he plays. Pretty much anything other than running around this stuffy ballroom looking for a way to slip out unnoticed.

He steps into a dimly lit hallway. Zhongli is probably sharing a glass of wine with some of the leaders of the other gang. Childe trusts he'll be out soon–Zhongli is sentimental and likes to drone on, but he should have had enough time to go over the rise and fall of the firearms industry now. He'll wait outside for them to wrap up, and then Zhongli will be there to run his fingers through Childe's hair to soothe his headache.

A shadow moves in the corner of Childe's eye. He turns, things the same as he left it. But years as a spy has taught him not to take anything with a grain of salt, so he stays on guard, not budging an inch.

Another movement, and a dagger flies from Childe's hand. A yelp and a thud resounds through the empty air of the hallway. The sound of Childe's boots are thunderous when he makes his way over to the sound.

There lies a man in a mask, clutching his wrist as it bleeds, Childe's dagger next to him. He glares at Childe from his spot on the floor.

"What are you trying to do here?" Childe asks, toeing at the man with his boot.

The man scowls at Childe, struggling under his foot. He doesn't budge. Childe lifts a little of his weight and the man jumps at the opportunity, only to release another yelp into the air when Childe brings his foot down again right at the junction of his wrist.

"You don't have anywhere to run, you know," he continues. "There are men in every corner of this building. Maybe I'll go easy on you if you're honest."

The man looks at Childe skeptically. Childe steps on him harder. "I'm going to do a lot worse than step on you if you don't speak up."

He pants from his spot on the floor, sweat beading on his face. Childe can practically see the gears in his brain turning as he weighs his options. He presses his foot down even harder to give him some incentive to speak up. Childe's eyes scan his body. He's clearly of high standing, if the watch on his wrist has anything to say about it. Stupid too, an earring glittering in the dim light of the hallway, dangling from his ear as if begging to be ripped out.