Chapter Text
No matter how many times he thought about it, Childe could never quite decide whether he was either the unluckiest person in all of Teyvat or actually, in fact, the luckiest.
The argument is this: logically, he would think himself extremely, abnormally unfortunate due to the sheer amount of life-threatening (and subsequently traumatizing) things that have happened to him within the brief twenty three years he’s been alive. Falling into the abyss in and of itself was unfathomably unluckly, for starters. To be not only standing in just the right place for a tear in the fabric of the universe to open up beneath him, but for the realm on the other side to also be an unimaginable hellscape that bends the rules of time itself? The odds of that can’t be very high, he thinks.
And while he could include all that business with the Fatui, Childe figures that he really brought that one onto himself. He could’ve just kept his head down until he hit eighteen, unenlisted, and skipped town to inevitably follow in the footsteps of his father and older brothers in some tiny village somewhere off the frozen coast. But of course he just had to be the best in the hopes of earning some recognition, had to become indispensable to the Tsaritsa to fill the void that being so easily thrown away by his beloved family left him with.
Then, as fate would have it, any semblance of stability he had found from that was taken away by yet another unfortunate twist of luck—and what were the odds of that? To have such a minor fight damage him so permanently that even the magic of a centuries-old adeptus could not fix it?
One morbid benefit of all this misfortune, however, is that he’s become very practiced in the disappointment it brings.
After Zhongli’s massage, Childe had eagerly spent the whole next day dismantling and salvaging pieces of the old bed frames upstairs while Zhongli himself began organizing ingredients for the dyes. He watches the storm wage on outside as he works, marveling at how strange it is to exert himself without the echo of pain bouncing up his thigh in response.
Though as the setting sun casts its sleepy haze from behind a wall of clouds, it brings with it a subtle feeling of tightness in his joint. At first Childe thinks its only a trick of the mind, like looking into the dark long enough that your eyes catch onto things that aren’t really there. He only imagines there’s a twinge in his knee because he expects there to be one, because his mind cannot fathom the absence of it after years of knowing nothing else.
But as Childe finishes bringing the savable pieces of woodwork downstairs, the ache of it becomes undeniable. With each step up the staircase, pain flashes up his leg like the bolts of lightning that he’d watched streak across the sky from his futon last night. He’s not as frustrated as he’d expect himself to be as the warmth of adeptal magic begins to seep away. When the ache creeping back in to makes room for the familiar grinding of misshapen bone and muscle, Childe only meets it with a resigned sigh.
This is mostly because instead of letting that sinking frustration pull him under the covers of his futon for the rest of the day, he chooses to ignore the static that rings at the back of his mind and instead focus on the other half of his ongoing debate:
Although Childe often felt that there was some ancient god or ancestral spirit that he had managed to piss off and was thus wreaking havoc on his life in any way possible, he could not deny the fact that he kept surviving all these incredibly unlucky events in (mostly) one piece was also, admittedly, insanely lucky.
Sure Zhongli’s massage wasn’t a cure-all miracle, but it did work, even if only temporarily. Which (as Childe is trying to focus on the bright side these days) means that they will have to continue doing them.
He’s quick to offer his help again when Childe reveals later that day that the effects had started to wear off. To Childe’s secret amusement, Zhongli seems even more disappointed in his magic not sticking than Childe himself is. With another round of slightly overwhelming but rewarding touches after dinner, another tentative agreement is struck between them.
So, in the end, Childe figures he’s still better off now than he was a couple of days ago.
Sure, he was still stuck in a magic house that he didn't quite understand the rules of and was starting to go just a tad stir crazy from it—but, now he was also getting oddly intimate leg massages from a very attractive adeptus on the semi-regular. The odds of stumbling into this particular situation were probably on par with that of falling into the abyss in the first place, so it all sort of evens out in his book.
(He tells himself this again as he lays awake in his futon that night, the soundless dark of the living room giving him no distraction from the quiet static that grows.)
Speaking of said adeptus, Childe listens for any signs of him as he sifts through the cabinets to begin breakfast. He’s not really sure what Zhongli does while he sleeps. He appears each morning as Childe finishes cooking yet he has no clue where exactly it is that the adeptus emerges from. The hatch to the attic had yet to reappear despite the house’s increasing sentiment towards them and he can’t imagine Zhongli hanging out anywhere upstairs either, given that he’s never heard the creak of the staircase in the morning. Downstairs seems just as unlikely being that most of it currently serves as a storage space for furniture and supplies, save for the living room and the kitchen. There was also the matter of what the adeptus did all night, aside from reading.
While Childe had obviously been curious about these things before, he had been content to chalk it up to one of the many mysterious adeptus things about Zhongli and leave it at that. But that had been before the shift in their strange dynamic, before the porch and the storm and all the touching—before Zhongli was, well, Zhongli.
While there was still a gap of unknowing between them, Childe felt that they were closer to each other now. Friends, maybe?
Childe isn’t very versed in having friends. According to Yanfei, he was akin to a “stray alley cat” when it came to opening up to others and even worse at trusting them. But he knew enough to know that whatever lied between him and Zhongli wasn’t quite the same as what he shared with the other people he’d gotten to know in Liyue.
Perhaps it was the fact that Zhongli was an adeptus, or maybe that they were stuck together, but Childe doesn’t remember ever feeling drawn to another person before, friend or otherwise. He had always been highly independent since his rather unfortunate run-in with the abyss. After the rejection of his parents, there was no one he truly felt he needed aside from his Archon; though even that came from a place of obedience rather than any sort of affection. He was just fine on his own, even when he came to find a place with Madam Ping and Yanfei. Despite the quiet loneliness of his apartment, he was just fine in the time he spent there.
Its not that this nature of his changed with the addition of Zhongli, he was not pulled to the adeptus or felt the need to be around him all the time. But he thought of him. A strange amount, considering that Zhongli was never really that far away and never for more than a matter of hours.
He doesn’t remember thinking of his other friends so much. It seemed like Zhongli had a near-constant presence in the back of Childe’s mind, just a slight energy of him resting next to his thoughts like a bookmark of the adeptus’ presence.
He doesn’t think he wonders about his other friends like he does Zhongli, either. Certainly not so much that he’d stand in the middle of the kitchen pondering what they do when he isn’t around. Yet here he is, chewing the side of his cheek as he considers the different rooms of the house and what possible entertainment they could provide when Childe was asleep.
Just because he isn’t experienced with friendships, even less so with feelings that reach beyond that, doesn’t mean he doesn’t know how they work. He’s inexperienced, sure, but not oblivious. In fact, he’s actually quite in touch with the inner workings of his mind—a lack of self-awareness is a dangerous weakness, and one did not make it very far within the ranks of the Fatui by having many of those.
So of course he knows the nervousness he feels when Zhongli looks him in the eyes so intently or touches him with such sure hands. But that would be a very, very unwise thing for him to feel, so instead of thinking about it he turns and walks out of the kitchen to search through the house, if for no other reason than to put the question to bed.
As good at identifying his feelings as Childe is, he’s twice as good at denying them.
His search leaves him in the same spot as he’d started, arms crossed in confusion as he stands in the middle of the kitchen with absolutely no idea where Zhongli could be. Every room in the house had stood perfectly empty and untouched from where he’d left them the night before, no traces of the adeptus whatsoever.
The only places he’d ever even really seen Zhongli hang out at was the living room, the dining table, and the back porch. The first two being unoccupied and the third wouldn’t be likely, as the rain—
…Had stopped for a bit, actually. Childe squints curiously at the window above the sink, stepping closer to slide the window open and listen for the familiar patter of raindrops. He stands leaned over the counter for a minute or two, but the world outside is silent save for the chatter of morning birds.
The air that seeps in is fresh and cool, brushing up against his face soothingly and sending goosebumps across the skin of his collarbones. He breathes it in deep, feeling it fill his lungs before breathing out slowly through his nose. Closing his eyes, he listens to the sound of morning breeze sifting through the sandbearer tree outside.
The rhythm of a quiet morning is broken up only by a soft sound. Curious, Childe leans as close as he can get towards the window. It comes again, rhythmically like before, but the sound is low enough that he can’t quite make out what it is.
With another deep exhale, he lifts his right leg to hook over the stone countertop before heaving his weight up to push himself farther forward. It feels reminiscent of when he’d climb up onto his parents wooden counters to reach for the dishes kept in high-up cabinets, but his new position offers him much closer access to the window. Shifting ever closer, Childe leans his head out to peer into the garden outside.
Everything is still and fresh, glistening from last night’s steady rainfall. The only movement comes from birds fluttering in and out of the reeds near the pond and the slight breeze that shutters through the big, arched tree in the corner of the yard. Dappled sunlight draws golden shapes across the expanse of the garden, yet when that same melodic noise draws Childe’s attention to the left, he finds a view much more breathtaking.
A little ways away, sitting cross-legged on the dark wood of the porch, is Zhongli.
The first thing Childe notices is his hair. The rising sun sends golden light spilling out from breaks in the clouds above, and a large part of the garden currently warms under patches of this scattered sunshine. It’s a stark contrast to the dreary haze that's covered it in shades of gray over the past few days. Zhongli sits serenely amidst this, soaking in the crisp morning sunlight like he’s made for it, made of it. The backdrop of pale sunshine lights up the reddish and amber strands usually hidden amongst the dark brunette of his hair. It spills down his back neatly, undone from his usual ponytail to hang in a dark, silken curtain.
The second thing that Childe notices is that some of the birds have landed around Zhongli. A group of yellow-bellied sparrows hop around the gravel in front of where he sits, chirping and fluttering among themselves as a few of the more daring ones come to rest on the porch next to him. Some even perch atop Zhongli’s shoulders and on his folded legs, swaying with the soft movement of his breathing.
He looks like something straight out of Tonia’s fairytales, Childe thinks to himself as he watches, unable to look away. Zhongli hums low and soft to either the birds or to himself—from this distance Childe can’t tell—but he finds himself leaning ever further through the windowsill as he strains to make out the words.
The serenity of the moment is interrupted by the loud clatter of something falling over on the counter by where his knee rests. The birds outside startle at the sudden noise, sending Childe careening back sharply as Zhongli begins to turn his head in the direction of the sound as well.
Between the sudden shock of nearly getting caught and the off-balanced way he’d been perched, Childe lets out a strangled noise as his momentum brings him tumbling off the edge of the counter, taking a wooden bowl and the napkin holder along with him. Despite the hard thud his body makes when he unceremoniously falls to the floor, Childe does little more than hiss through his teeth before scrambling up to cover his tracks.
Tossing the bowl haphazardly back onto the countertop, he swiftly opens up the ice box to pull a random assortment of ingredients onto the counter where he’d just been perched. By the time he hears the sliding door to the garden quietly open and shut, he’s chopping random vegetables and casually pretending to be startled at Zhongli’s presence.
“Oh! Good morning,” he chirps in faux-surprise before gesturing to the stovetop, “Uh—breakfast won’t be ready for a bit, but I can start some tea while we wait?”
When he looks over his shoulder he finds Zhongli looking at him considerately. Distract from the fact you were staring at him like a creep, distract, distract, distract.
“I’ll even let you decide what kind we have this morning, since you’re in here so early today.” he adds enticingly, nodding towards the cabinet they housed the tea leaves in and watching the adeptus’ attention follow suit.
After a beat, Zhongli merely hums a response to his greeting before wandering over to his usual seat at the table. Childe turns back to start the kettle before he can get caught staring again, leaving the other to deliberate his choice quietly.
Another odd thing he’d noticed with the more time they spent together was that despite the fact that Zhongli didn’t sleep, the adeptus was still not what one would call a “morning person”.
Childe didn’t used to be one either before he had to learn to be ready to defend himself at a moment's notice, even while resting. As a kid he was one of the hardest of his siblings to wake, overshadowed only by Anthon, who could sleep through just about anything and basically had to be pushed out of bed each morning. But the Fatui barracks trained him to be an early and energetic riser—one of the only traits ingrained into him that he ended up appreciating later on. Even now that he was technically on vacation (or house arrest, as he’s taken to calling it recently) and could afford to sleep in later than dawn, he finds the quiet serenity of the mornings here in the countryside quite soothing. Even if he can’t really go out and see the countryside, the fresh air and pretty views from the house’s many windows is good enough.
But Zhongli’s starkly contrasting attitude towards the early hours is confusing, to say the least. Somehow, the adeptus seems groggy and quiet each morning as if he’d stayed up late and been woken up too soon. His responses to Childe’s attempts at conversing tend to come slow and mumbled, if not a bit grumpy. His closest theory is that it simply takes Zhongli time to adjust to being spoken to and interacted with after spending the entire night alone in perfect silence.
Either way, it's nothing that a good cup of tea can’t fix. As soon as Childe sets down a warm pot of the jasmine tea that Zhongli chose from the growing collection of canisters in their cabinet, the bleary quiet seems to recede. Maybe it's the cold that makes him sluggish, Childe thinks to himself as he watches Zhongli contentedly wrap both palms around a steaming cup—he is a dragon, after all.
When he finally sets two plates of omelets down next to the now twice refilled teapot, Zhongli seems to have uncurled from himself and accepts the meal with his usual appreciation.
Even if he miraculously didn’t see the orange flash of Childe’s hair leaning out of the window earlier, he surely heard the crash of him falling off the countertop. However, Zhongli doesn't mention it as they eat or even as he goes to pick up the fallen napkin holder when they put their dishes away after.
It’s only fair, then, that Childe doesn't mention the stray feather in Zhongli’s hair either.
The brief interlude of sunshine ends by the time the dishes are cleared away from the table and washed. The gentle sounds of rainfall begin to pick up once more as Zhongli dutifully dries each plate and bowl that Childe hands him. They work beside each other amicably, quietly discussing what they should do now that the storm is keeping them inside another day. It’s not as awkward now for Childe to mention that he would rather avoid anything strenuous today, though it still brings unbidden warmth to his face when Zhongli offers to help him with his leg again.
He only turns his cheek away slightly and pretends to scan the countertops for stray dishes, mumbling that he’d rather wait until it starts causing him discomfort instead of doing it now. Zhongli nods silently, and if he notices the slight flush to Childe’s cheeks he blessedly does not point it out.
“Now that the hearth is in working condition, we can go ahead with making the dyes for the linens, if you’d like?” Zhongli tells him after Childe finishes wiping down the table. Bringing them to where a low table has been dragged in front of the hearth, he continues, “The process itself will take at least several days to complete, perhaps longer depending on how elaborate you want to get with designs. Beginning them now should have most of them finished in time to dry outside once the storm has passed.”
A dozen or so bowls cover the surface of the table, each filled with the different ingredients that Zhongli had been gathering to dye the plain fabric that sits folded up next to them. While most of the roots and powders had come from Zhongli’s previous trip into the harbor, Childe recognized a few of the plants that grew in the garden and in the surrounding area as well.
“Any color that you desire can be made from these materials, though more complex shades may require some experimentation or multiple rounds of the dyeing process to achieve. You would be safest sticking to the colors that these naturally produce, therefore I tried to gather as many different ingredients as possible to give you a variety of options. Reds, blues, and other vibrant colors will usually take to the fabric easiest, while lighter colors such as yellows and pinks may be more difficult to achieve.” he lists as he shuffles a few of the bowls closer towards them.
Childe nods along as Zhongli pulls out a stack of colored fabric squares, “Did you have certain colors in mind already, or would you like to experiment with them beforehand? I had meant to ask you yesterday but I didn’t want to interrupt your work upstairs, so I have prepared some fabric samples instead. I can also explain each of the ingredients, if you’d like.”
Childe smiles, waving a hand out over the table. “Explain away, Zhongli.”
He tries to tell himself that its not charming, the way Zhongli looks quietly satisfied with his answer. Golden eyes flicker over the bowls, seemingly deciding where to start—Nope, not charming at all.
He should find the lengthy descriptions boring, but the patter of rain makes a good backdrop to the smooth lull of Zhongli’s voice. All Childe can do is rest his chin on a curled fist and listen with great interest to the history of using valberries for dye.
The morning goes on just like that—rain continues to drum against the windows as Zhongli carefully explains each bowl and its color in great detail until he leaves to prepare the rest of the supplies. As Childe decides between wolfhook blue or mint blue, Zhongli hangs three large cast iron pots across the hearth and stokes a fire to life underneath them.
As the water he fills them with begins to simmer, Zhongli comes back to Childes side to hum his approval at his subsequent choices before guiding him through the next steps.
Despite the amount of consideration and effort that goes into it, the actual process of brewing the dye and setting the linens to soak only takes up a couple hours between grinding down the materials and adding them into boiling water. By the time they settle tubs filled with fabrics soaking in rich color in the kitchen and open up the windows for ventilation, it's only late morning.
It's easy, the tempo they’ve created in the mornings—Its soft and warm, but does nothing to quell the building itch that's been quietly prickling at the edges of Childe’s mind.
It's something like the panic of being stuck, but sharp with frustration and dulled by his own stubbornness. The hours he spends being taught how to make colors from various plants and roots provides enough distraction that he can ignore it for a while—Zhongli’s voice is just enough to drown out the restlessness that's building under his skin. But it’s been there, subtle but mounting since yesterday, and now that the linens have been set to soak and Zhongli has gone to continue organizing the study, Childe feels it creep up once more.
He cleans up the bowls and mops the floor of the living room again despite the fact they are already clean, then stares up at the peeling wallpaper as he feels that tick build in his fingertips. The paper curls inwards at its corners, dulled from its original pattern with time and lack of proper care. It will all need to be stripped and replaced, he thinks to himself as he traces his gaze along each wall, assessing.
Thunder booms outside, pulling his attention towards the window and away from his thoughts. The world outside is still grayed from the constant cover of clouds, but the thunder sounds farther away than last time and the clouds seem less angry-looking than before.
The storm reminds him of home, and so does the itch that prickles at the back of his neck. When he looks down at his hands there are red, angry-looking crescents carved into his palms from where he had clenched them unconsciously. The sting of it reminds him of home, too.
The static grows an octave as Childe heads off in search of something to remove the wallpaper with.
It turns out that stripping the walls is actually much harder than he’d originally thought it to be.
Maybe it was because the wallpaper had been on these walls since before he was even born, or maybe it was because the house simply found amusement in his struggling, but that damned wallpaper seemed to fight him every step of the way. The itch grows more and more until it’s a constant, deafening buzz in his ears.
He’s sweating by the time he finishes the first room, gritting his teeth by the time he gets through the next. What a strange thing to be prideful about, he thinks as indignation takes root in his gut—It was as if that vaguely outdated paper was testing him on purpose. The ugly feeling in his chest wont shut the fuck up, so he scrapes harder at the walls to drown it out.
Zhongli finds him halfway through removing the tragically dated wallpaper in the master bedroom, panting and cursing under his breath as it once again tears into a smaller strip instead of peeling off as a sheet. Childe almost snaps at him when the adeptus calls his name from the far side of the room.
“Childe,” Zhongli calls again, gently, like he’d been calling for some time now. Childe looks over his shoulder as the adeptus approaches him with a soft frown, “Childe, you’re shaking.”
Breathing in sharply through his nose, Childe pulls his hand away from where it’s braced against the offending plaster. Sure enough, it trembles as he holds it up. The twitch of his fingers travels all along his forearm and down his body, most notably in the leg that seems to shudder under his weight. As if being called into existence, throbbing pain flashes into his subconscious like a heartbeat that pulls his entire focus to its cruel rhythm.
His knee gives a jerk like it's about to buckle as he’s all at once snapped out of his affront towards the damned wallpaper. All his aggrieved determination bleeds away as hidden exhaustion takes it’s place, stepping back from the half-revealed wall with shaky steps until he’s caught against firm, supporting weight. Zhongli’s arm wraps around his lower back, his other hand coming up to hold Childe by his elbow gently as he sags.
“Come and rest for a few minutes.” Zhongli tells him as he helps lower Childe down onto the edge of the stripped bed behind them. He squeezes his arm in reassurance as Childe hisses through his teeth at the painful, creaking way his knee bends.
Zhongli sits beside him quietly as he breathes with his eyes closed, half from the pain and half from the embarrassment of losing himself over something so mundane. Neither one of them speak until Childe’s breathing slows from panting to only mildly labored.
“Ah—sorry about all that, must’ve gotten carried away,” he chuckles awkwardly, lifting a shaking hand to rub at his nape.
Zhongli only nods in response, “I understand. Would you like me to help you now?”
Childe huffs awkwardly and breaks his gaze away, “...If you don’t mind,”
Ever patient, Zhongli only nods again. “Very well, please bear with me.”
This time, however, he rises from his spot on the mattress only to gracefully sink down onto one knee. Childe’s eyes widen as the adeptus kneels close to where his legs hang off the side of the bed, holding his breath as Zhongli bends even farther down to grasp at the end of his pant leg and begins to tug it upwards with careful movements. It’s a painfully intimate gesture in an even more intimate position, but he keeps his mouth shut as the fabric is delicately rolled up to bunch at his upper thigh. There’s a pause in the Zhongli's movements, just long enough to be intentional, and Childe takes this precious moment to breath in deep.
He starts slow, as he always does when touching Childe. Each movement closer is steeped in consideration of the space he’s pushing into, always leaving room for the other to back away. He wants to ask Zhongli where he learned that, if it's something he does for everyone or if this kindness has been lended to him because the adeptus recognizes the way Childe jumps under that touch despite its slow coaxing. But Childe does not ask this, nor does he bring attention to the way this tenderness feels dangerously close to what he once searched for between the pages of trashy romance novels and in the touch of a merchant’s son years ago.
It’s just the rain. It’ll pass with the rain, he tells himself once again as his pain thunders along with the storm. His heart skips every time he feels the Zhongli’s soft breaths against his exposed skin—he tells himself it's because of the hurt, nothing more.
It will pass, he repeats as that ache gives way under Zhongli’s careful hands, repeats it to himself again and again like an anchor at sea. His mind has been ticking in strange ways today, leading him down strange paths ever since he saw Zhongli haloed in dappled sunlight that morning; since the adeptus’ grumpy demeanor began to thaw out into something oddly and damningly charming. Childe has nowhere to run from the way some terrible thing begins to bubble up from deep in his chest.
He doesn’t need to be touched, yet Zhongli does. It's a necessary touch like Madam Ping’s, meant to help and heal, but the brush of Zhongli’s thumbs as they map the path of his palms over Childe’s skin holds an intimacy that Madam Ping’s touch had not. It’s soft, exploring as much as it is purposeful. It confuses him, and he gets lost in it for a while before the gentle rumble of Zhongli’s voice pulls him back.
“Childe,” Zhongli calls softly as his thumbs dig circles into his lower thigh. They’d been silent thus far, to speak felt like breaking the strange atmosphere that had settled over them.
“Mm?” he replies, still dazed by the energy sparking below his skin.
“Is there a reason you’ve strained yourself this much?” Zhongli asks. His tone doesn’t hold accusation or fond exasperation like most would, but the light curiosity is still hard to answer nonetheless. The question settles between them for a few long minutes as the adeptus continues his ministrations quietly.
“It bothers me, that it didn't...” Childe murmurs at last, half under his breath. “That it didn't work.”
Zhongli doesn’t stop, but he does lift his head to look at him in question. “What didn’t work?”
“The—you know,” Childe sighs, gesturing to the hands moving slowly over his leg.
Zhongli frowns, “You said your pain had been alleviated afterwards, did you not? I assumed that you meant the adeptal energy had helped you.”
“It does help, I just—urgh, its stupid and that’s half the reason I’m so frustrated with it.” Childe sighs heavily, “I know better than this, but…”
“But?”
It takes another few moments for him to answer; the words stick to his teeth like tar, but Zhongli does not push him any farther. He’s getting better at being touched, but the hum of the adeptus’ magic still crowds his senses enough that he's held fumbling on that live wire again. It's enough sensation that he’d rather spill his guts than have his focus solely on the feel of heat seeping into his veins.
“I wanted it to fix me. I know its not fair and that's not how this works, but I was still disappointed when it didn’t.” Childe says with quiet anger, “I don't want to be upset, I want to be okay with it, I—I thought I was okay with it. ‘Cause If I’m not, if I’m upset, then… then I’m not as at peace with it as I thought I was, and I’ve tried really, really hard to be.”
A deep breath as Zhongli presses deep into where it hurts the most, he continues, “Deep down, I think that there’s something wrong with me. I try to ignore it because I know that's not, you know, healthy or whatever—but it's there, and I don’t know how to get rid of it.”
Zhongli hums gently, “I see. This is why…?”
“I guess. That disappointment reminded me a little too much of how I felt back then, when I was trying everything I could to fix myself. Every time something failed I took it hard, and towards the end I started taking it personally, too. Somehow it was my fault nothing was working, I was doing something wrong, I wasn't trying hard enough.”
Zhongli frowns again lightly, tapping against his skin softly to bring Childe's attention back from his rambling. “Your injury is what it is, Childe, nothing more. The limitations it brings you are unfortunate and quite understandably frustrating, but attempting to push through them on your own will not change your circumstance. Despite our odd meeting, I am here. Allow me to help you before you drive yourself to truly needing it.”
“I—I don’t…” Childe mumbles, frustrated. They lapse into silence, but its terse—awkward, as neither of them seem to know how to tread further.
“I would not have woken up on my own,” Zhongli starts, after the quiet drags on for too long. There’s a determined kind of frown on his face and his words are even, “Not for quite a while longer, at least. Perhaps long enough that I would have been left behind here as the centuries went on. Do you think of me as weak for that?”
The sincerity in his question sends a jolt through Childe, “That’s different."
“It's not,” Zhongli cuts him off with gentle authority, looking up again to meet his eyes. “I was tired, you are hurt. We are both deserving in our own right and self deprecation would not fix either of these situations. Think of me doing this for you as repayment, if it should help you to accept it more easily.”
“You didn't mean to sleep too long, and even then you had a very good reason to. You were mourning. I was just being reckless.” Childe tries, but Zhongli holds fast, working deft hands up into his middle thigh.
“You meant for this to happen to you, then?” he asks, pressing his thumbs in gentle circles.
“Well, I wouldn't have—if I'd known that it would be like this,” Childe mumbles as Zhongli’s gaze flicks back down to his task. His breath stutters in his lungs as the other presses carefully into the knot right above his knee. Despite the stilted atmosphere, he curls into Zhongli subconsciously as sharp pain flares up through his tendons, bracing himself on an onyx-painted forearm as the adeptus massages away the twisting hurt.
He murmurs comfort as Childe trembles through the waves of heat-pain-relief tumbling through his overexerted body. The hand that is not busy working away the pain in his leg reaches around to press at the small of his back with an open palm, giving him support to slump against when his breath finally leaves him in a shaking sigh. Eventually his head falls forward to rest on Zhongli’s shoulder heavily, uncaring of the proximity as the worst of his pain finally gives way.
After a few quiet moments of recovery Childe feels the rumble of Zhongli’s voice under him, “Then I do not see how it is different.”
“Well you’re not the one who can’t get through his chores on his own,” Childe retorts softly from under his breath, if nothing else but to be contrary. The last of his stubbornness has left with the twisting ache, chased away by the heat of Zhongli’s touch once again.
“Perhaps I couldn’t do so, either,” he replies easily, “It seems to be quite a tedious task. Perhaps I'd grow disinterested with it halfway through and wander off.” Despite the way Childe is still shaking in the adeptus' hold, a small laugh bubbles up from his chest. It’s just the rain, he tries to tell himself again as Zhongli gives him a smile soft enough to bring its own ache to Childe’s chest. It will pass.
He doesn’t quite know what he’ll do if it doesn’t. Though if there's one thing he’s never been able to resist, it’s reaching for what is not his to hold—coveting the divine, holding it in his mortal chest where it does not belong. Would this be any different than seeking to be the chosen weapon of a god? To wish for a divine being’s affection with all his awful, selfish heart? To want nothing more than to fold into the warm touch of the golden palm resting against his spine, until he exists only within the beat of a war drum, a great cliff face?
If only blasphemy didn’t come to him so easily, Childe thinks ruefully. If only he’d never picked up one of Yanfei’s romance novels and put a name to this secret wanting he carries. If only Zhongli wasn’t so handsome, so strangely endearing when he rambles and when his bangs slip over his eyes. If only he didn’t touch Childe like he’s meant to be held so softly and with such kindness, then perhaps Childe would not want as selfishly as he does.
Zhongli traces over the scars of his kneecap and the gentleness in it fills Childe's ribcage with something distinctly heretical. He's not so sure this want will pass with the storm, despite what he promises to himself—but the rain has not stopped yet, so he leans against the warm hand held steady against his back and wants.