Chapter Text
“Are you… fucking joking?” Childe asks. His words drip with poisonous frustration, and they sting. He rises from his seat across from the man that betrayed him.
“I said, are you fucking joking?” he repeats. Zhongli opens his mouth and then shuts it. He did not want to fan the flames of Childe’s anger.
“Why am I angry? Why do you think I’m angry, Mr. All-Knowing-Zhongli,” he snarls, “I’m angry because you kept me in the dark! I’m angry because you and that bitch of a woman humiliated me.” He referred to Signora, 8th of the Fatui Harbingers, with the most hateful tone he could’ve mustered. The resentment and hurt in Childe’s heart are clear through his eyes. Dark and empty, like a freezing cold ocean, where nothing but sad and horrible monsters swim below.
“I-” Zhongli started.
“And you know what Zhongli?” Childe interrupts, “I thought I was your equal.”
He felt a stabbing pain. The feeling that simmers deep inside of him, boils. Creeping down to his fingers and toes, filling up his brain and clouding his head. A feeling that makes his arms and legs feel static, and his heart fills full of pure and untainted guilt.
Zhongli clears his throat and attempted to explain.
“Don’t… say that as if you’re not, Childe. You know that…” he trails off as he sees Childe’s face getting redder with rage.
“As if I’m not?! Do I know that?! Would you use an equal like a tool for a fucking contract?! For fucks sake, I’ve been treated like a weapon my whole life!” he slams his fist on the desk, pens rattling in their holders, and the glass Childe drunk out of spills. The wine pools on top of the dark wood like red ink. Zhongli widens his eyes, listening wordlessly while Childe’s body shook with rage and grief.
“Did you know that, Zhongli? My life went from childhood, straight to being used. Like I was a life-sized doll that could fight and carry a sword! I get treated only slightly better than cruel. I’m even viewed as less than a person by most of the people in Liyue, did you realize that?!”
He does realize that. It made him wince, hearing the whispers of his people towards his companion. He desperately wants to distract him, almost, from the disapproving looks of many as they walk down the street. Perhaps it was because Childe was his dear friend, that he wants him to feel the best he can. So staring up at a livid Childe, who biting back tears, is unpleasant, to say the least.
“Fuck me, I guess. I mean shit,” he started, pulling at the back of his hair. Another self-destructive behavior, as Zhongli notes. Childe has quite a few of those. Whether it be scratching, pulling, fighting, or whatnot, Childe did it. It filled Zhongli’s heart with pity and some strange feeling that he felt only a few times before, not experienced enough to truly define it.
“It’s on me, like always, right?” Childe rambles. His voice was shaky and it cracked. Like he was crying, yet no tears flowed.
“Fuck me for thinking I was anything more than that! Fuck me for getting too comfortable with having a genuine friend. And,” he turned to face Zhongli with a resentful face,
“Fuck you for making me feel like that.”
Zhongli’s heart dropped impossibly low. His inner composure cracks, with guilt and confusion swirling in his divine brain like sour wine being swished around in a glass. He reaches out his hand to try and grasp Childe’s. What for? What would he gain? Childe would not forgive you just for holding his hand, you old fool.
Just as suspected, the gesture was futile. With a sharp slap, Childe swats away his hand.
“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me, Zhongli,” he seethes, “Trying to save face or something? Pretend as if you care? I’m not as stupid as you and Signora think.” He spits out the words with venom, biting into Zhongli’s skin.
“No, Childe. I-” Again interrupted.
“I don’t wanna hear it. I don’t want to hear whatever bullshit excuse you have. I don’t want to hear you pretend that you have room for human decency. As if you could be decent to a mere mortal such as I.”
If only. If only he knew. If he knew how little Childe’s mortality meant to Zhongli, for what is the difference between God and humans other than age and power?
“Childe. Please, do not misunderstand. You are… precious to me,” he explains, only to be cut short by a sharp, sardonic laugh.
“Trying to lie to me again? Didn’t I tell you that I wasn’t a fucking idiot? You…”
He’s breathless, trying to piece together the inconsistencies in his mind, the events and feelings that don’t make sense to him. Zhongli speaks once more.
“I don’t-”
“You need to shut the fuck up,” Childe says dangerously.
Zhongli was neither intimidated nor scared, but did, in fact, shut up. Out of pure guilt. How could it be that a man whose words ensnare others can invoke pure rage in only one? The absolute hatred, grief, and confusion in his voice were unmistakable. Zhongli was completely and utterly speechless for the first time in a long time.
“How fucking dare you call me precious,” he says, darkly quiet, “If I was precious, you wouldn’t have betrayed me.”
Zhongli doesn’t say anything at all.
“I mean, how can you even say that, when you were the one who was precious to me?”
He ends the sentence with a crack in his voice. He scratches the back of his forearm once, violently, to keep the tears from falling, for Childe to keep his composure.
If his words were daggers, that sentence was the sharpest one. It cut into his heart and carved it out.
Zhongli was precious to a man that had no clue. When he was still ignorant of Zhongli’s sanctity, Childe held him close to his heart. How would it feel to be truly loved as a person, and not simply for his divinity? There was no need to speak at this point. The merciful punishment is to sit and take whatever Childe has to say.
And Childe has more to say.
“An Archon. The oldest and most powerful archon at that. God, I should’ve known. I shouldn’t even be surprised I was used, since who even gives a fuck about a human’s feelings? Right?” Childe asks.
He laughs nervously as if he’s on the verge of a breakdown. Hell, maybe he is. The scratching won’t stop, and Zhongli can see welts form at the skin near his gloves. He wishes he could stop it. Put his hand on Childe’s, nod once, and have him stop.
But being reasonably berated by a beloved friend for the first time in a millennium is debilitating. When has this happened before? Has it happened before? When a man is so beloved and worshipped for his existence, how would it feel to be in wrong? It feels indescribable. It gets a man numb in pure disbelief and confusion. After all, a long-forgotten experience rudely awakening would never be enjoyable.
As Childe goes on, listing the ways Zhongli, or Morax, ruined it all for him, he sits in silence, taking it all wordlessly.
Nothing escapes out of Zhongli’s mouth. If Childe says something he disagrees with, he only clenches his fist in protest, but nothing more. Childe deserves an outlet and Zhongli’s deserved punishment is being his punching bag.
When Childe finally trails off, mentally exhausted after relaying his grievances, he stands breathless and shaking.
“Fuck. How the hell am I going to face her Majesty like this,” he mutters. He scratches his fingers hard.
Childe gives a final look, full of loathing, at Zhongli. Then, without a word, turns around and leaves. Zhongli closes his eyes and sighs at the sound of the door of the funeral parlor slamming.
Hu Tao, the poor girl, sticks her head into the office, her face showing great concern. As Zhongli’s irises somberly glance at her, she quickly retreats out of the room. She must have heard the screaming, yes? No matter.
He sits there, cemented into his seat as his image permanently sits in the statues scattered around Liyue. What was it about this event, this man that struck a nerve so harshly in his system?
Zhongli does not have an answer. Rarely as it happens, he too can find himself grappling for an answer, usually of the human sort. Could it be that a god who is regarded by many as benevolent, be still struggling with viewing mortals on the same level as he?
Childe was right, then, he supposes. The complete disregard of Childe's feelings in the matter, or rather the way that Zhongli didn't even consider them, is apparent.
Why are you angry? He asked, like a fool. An ancient, out-of-touch idiot that just crushed the heart of his dear friend just now. Ridiculous.
Ridiculous.
With a heavy sigh, Zhongli lifts himself from his seat and bids the funeral director goodbye and gives her an apology as well.
"Zhongli, are you sure that... you know. Are you sure you're okay? Is... Childe okay?" she asks worriedly. He musters a smile and a nod.
"I'm sure it will be resolved in due time. There is no need for you to worry."
Despite his words, Zhongli leaves the parlor with its director uneasy about the situation. The explanation could be left for later. The wound is too fresh as it is. As he walks to his home in Liyue, short, little thoughts cross his mind.
A rest would be nice. Maybe some sleep. Perhaps he should follow that drunkard's example, snoozing for 1,000 years or so.
...No. Absolutely not.