Archive of Our Own

The day starts pretty mundanely. 

Childe wakes up next to his husband; they make love; Childe makes breakfast for them both. Then Childe drives his husband to the airport. They have a sappy farewell where they hug and kiss and murmur how much they love each other.

Finally, they wave goodbye, and Childe heads home in an empty car, heart heavier.

The first thing he does when he gets home is housework, something to distract him from the fact that he knows he’s going to miss Zhongli awfully. The first day is always the worst, in his experience.

All in all, mundane. Thankfully not regular - Zhongli’s nights away are extremely rare - but mundane. After all, Childe is a picture perfect husband - or he tries to be. He keeps in shape, he excels at cleaning and cooking, he’s a good sport about losing in board games. If you ask his neighbours, he’s nothing special, but a good spouse.

Childe likes it that way.

Nowhere better to hide than in plain sight. If only those neighbours knew he keeps fit because his work demands it, or that he excels so much at cleaning because of how much of it he does.

Killing’s a messy business after all.

And while he does miss Zhongli already, having him out of the house for a week is a great time to deal with some work without having to prepare all sorts of excuses to explain away anything from his whereabouts to any accidental bloodstains.

Killing’s also an awkward business to bring up to your mild-mannered, soft-spoken husband, so Childe just… never had. He can’t imagine someone as sweet as Zhongli would lie next to him at night if he knew, nor can he imagine someone as straight-laced as Zhongli not calling the police. Childe likes his life with Zhongli next to him in bed and without police knocking on his door, so a secret it has to stay.

So maybe the day starts mundanely, but it ends with planning murder. Childe kicks his feet up, and checks his burner phone for information about a new job he knows is supposed to be coming.

There’s a text.

I need my husband dead by the time I come home. Is this Tartaglia?

Spouses make up the bulk of his clientele, unsurprisingly. No one statistically wants a husband or wife dead more than their husband or wife.

I’ll send you his information, the new client promises, after a bit of back and forth.

Childe takes a sip of red wine, and settles back, ready to be faced with whatever poor schmuck made the mistake of marrying their worst enemy.

The wine clogs his throat and makes him choke when he stares at his own face instead.

His name is Ajax Snezhevich. This is our address…

He doesn’t read all the information as it comes in, information that he already knows, and instead throws the phone against the wall.

It’s Zhongli. Zhongli is texting him.

Zhongli doesn’t love him.

Not only that, Zhongli hates him enough to want him dead.

He doesn’t understand.

Sure, maybe Childe slips up sometimes. Sometimes they fight and squabble. But not more than any other still in love couple, right? Not enough to warrant… this , right?

There has to be something he’s missing, right? Something that should have shown him that something like this was coming. He replays their morning again in his head, but he can’t see anything that indicates that Zhongli hates him. It had been normal. There’d been no frowns or bad words or… anything.

His glass tips on the sofa, and stains the fabric, but he barely registers it.

Why couldn’t Zhongli just… talk to him, if he wanted a divorce? Why couldn’t they work something out? He doesn’t understand.

He lets out something halfway between a bitter laugh and a desperate sob.

His sweet, mild-mannered, soft-spoken husband, the one who had always been so gentle and patient, wanted blood. And Childe, who made dishing blood out his specialty, had never seen it coming. Talk about ironic. Talk about stupid, because here he’d been, missing Zhongli while Zhongli was instead desperate to get away from him and to come back to an empty house.

Zhongli doesn’t love him.

He doesn’t understand.

Zhongli hates him.

He doesn’t sleep that night, tossing and turning and crying in equal measure. When he does manage, he dreams of Zhongli - just a Zhongli who still loves him back - and wakes up with his life feeling like ash in his mouth, staring at the empty half of the bed.

How long had this been going on for? How long had Zhongli hid his animosity behind sweet kisses and loving words? When had Zhongli’s love shrivelled up and become rotten? Was there someone else? Did he just want the inheritance money?

He gets his phone - his usual, every day one - and continues ignoring the good night and good morning texts from his soon to be ex-husband.

If something was up, you would tell me, right? I love you.

There’s no response, and maybe once he would have assumed Zhongli was just busy but now - was he purposely ignoring Childe? Working up the strength to reply? Or simply too caught up in the arms of a lover to look?

He doesn’t do anything all day. Even getting up to make something (anything, whatever, he doesn’t care) to eat is a struggle. He doesn’t know when he shifts from the bed to the sofa, nor does he really know what he’s watching except it’s not enough to distract him from the pain in his heart.

His phone chimes.

Of course. Has something happened? I love you too.

“Liar,” Childe seethes, and throws this phone at the wall too.

What is he meant to do?

Normally he’s good at coming up with things on the fly and being adaptable, but right now he’s left floundering. If Zhongli won’t admit it, they can’t talk about it, and if they can’t talk about it, Childe can’t convince Zhongli to stay with him. It’s not like he can admit to Zhongli that his plan to have his husband murdered has hit one huge fatal flaw.

Perhaps he should serve Zhongli with divorce papers instead. Be the divorcer, not the divorcee, and all that. Show him how ending a marriage ought to be done.

He stares at one of the framed photos of them both. It was from Zhongli’s birthday party several years ago. Childe is drunk and has his arms thrown round Zhongli, giving him a very slobbery kiss on the cheek, and Zhongli is caught mid-laugh, holding protectively onto his waist. Childe still remembered that night - or most of it, anyway, and it’d been good. They’d been happy.

When did it go wrong?

Zhongli doesn’t love him anymore.

Again that night, he dreams of Zhongli, of touching him and kissing him and making love and making him laugh, and again when he wakes the dream turns to ash in his mouth. Never again is he going to do any of those things. 

What did he do to deserve this treatment from Zhongli? He keeps searching, looking back in his memories, hoping to find some magical moment that he can point to and say, this is where my marriage fell apart .

Sure, Zhongli’s as stubborn as a rock, and Childe’s as insistent as the tide, but there hasn’t been a fight they haven’t made up or an obstacle they haven’t got over. Is he just blind, too love sick to notice that he was slowly destroying what he loved the most?

Or is there anything he could have done to justify this?

There are some valid reasons to want your spouse dead instead of just being an adult and getting a divorce - reasons beyond petty bitterness and vile hatred. There isn’t a single one he can apply to him and Zhongli.

If Zhongli wanted something to change, he should have talked . He should have communicated. He shouldn’t have skipped that step, and then skipped the step of insisting on a divorce anyway, and ended up on murder before any other solution.

This is a man who wants you dead for no good reason, he tells himself, and it makes anger start to bubble under his skin and boil over into rage.

How dare he.

If Zhongli wants Childe out of his life, then he can have it, but it is going to cost him everything. 

He retrieves both his phones from the living room, neither of them are damaged. 

On his work phone, there’s no new texts - for a second he was dumb enough to hope that maybe there would be an I changed my mind message from Zhongli. He clicks his tongue. Of course not. That will be the last time he puts his faith in Zhongli. 

Tartaglia takes the job. Ajax will die soon, he promises.

Then he switches to his personal phone, and changes his wallpaper from an old picture of them (them on holiday together, posing in front of an old building. Childe is grinning, making a peace sign towards the camera. Zhongli is serenely smiling, hands clasped behind his back, like how he always does when he poses for a photo) into one of the default ones that comes with the phone. 

It feels good to have his drive back. Everything is starting to slot back into place in his head. This is a new life, new him, with a new identity and no Zhongli by his side. 

He hates that, but he still hates what Zhongli has done to him more. 

And seeing Zhongli’s face in the paper when he’s sent to jail will be so, so, satisfying. Have fun with that , asshole. Good luck trying to get your stupid imported salt in prison, dickhead. 

If Zhongli thinks being away on a trip is going to give him a perfect alibi, then all Childe has to do is make it look like Zhongli murdered him as soon as he came back. It doesn’t have to be perfect (good, because he can’t make a body for this) to make the police suspect Zhongli. It doesn’t have to be perfect to ruin Zhongli’s reputation and drag his name through the mud. It doesn’t have to be perfect to ruin Zhongli’s life.

And he can’t feel bad about it, because this is all of Zhongli’s own choices. If you don’t want to be known as a murderer… maybe don’t hire someone to murder someone. It’s pretty easy for most people. 

Just not Zhongli, apparently. 

He has only a few days until Zhongli is coming back, and he needs to set up everything. All the gunk of two days moping around is washed off and leaves him refreshed with a new vigour. 

It will go like this: Zhongli will have returned from his trip, and will have fought the same night with his husband. The fight will have turned violent, and ends with Zhongli stabbing his husband to death. 

After that, the ball is in Zhongli’s court, but Childe sincerely doubts he’ll be able to explain away Childe’s sudden disappearance anyway. 

And then jail for Zhongli. 

It’s always the spouses, after all. 

He makes sure to reply to Zhongli’s texts, knowing full well that soon his phone records will be scoured by the police. It’ll be evidence he was alive when Zhongli had an alibi, but he keeps it just a little frosty. Enough to let investigators think their marriage maybe isn’t as wholesome as they let their neighbours think. There’s nothing he can do about the earlier texts - the ones from a time where Childe was stupid enough to think that his love was actually reciprocated - but whatever, it’s not like the police will try that hard to not suspect the husband. 

He makes sure to Google certain things, too. How to talk to your partner about money. What do I do if my husband wants to spend too much? How do I make someone agree to and stick to a budget?

The day before the big event he goes out, and is lucky enough to bump into one of their neighbours in the shops. 

“Oh, Zhongli’s away right now. Something he has to go to for work. He didn’t want me to come,” he tells her casually. “I’m looking forward to him coming back, but just between you and me, I really need to talk some sense into his head about finances. Not looking forward to that.” 

Their neighbour nods with inquisitive eyes and gossip hungry ears, unaware in a few days she’ll be a good sport and repeat that to the police. 

On the morning of the day Ajax Snezhevich, loyal husband, is to be murdered, he goes out jogging and makes sure to let himself be seen as much as possible. Says hi to as many people as he can get away with. Stops to pet someone’s dog and makes small talk to them. 

That afternoon, he keeps a lunch date with a friend he set up at short notice. They chat idly as he swirls half a glass of red in his palm. 

“By the way,” he slips in when there’s a natural lull, “how do you approach talking money? I love seeing Zhongli happy, but sometimes his attitude to money concerns me. He’s just a bit too spend-happy, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” Ekaterina says, sipping on a mocktail that’s a disgusting shade of pink. “Hasn’t Zhongli always been like that?” 

“Yeah…” Childe hums, tilting his head back against the booth seat. “I know. Just sometimes, I think I need to tell him no to buying another expensive antique. I’ve been looking at our finances and I just think it’s an expense we could do without, you know?” 

“I get it,” Ekaterina says thoughtfully. “Just find a way to compromise. That’s what relationships are about.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, even as it feels foul in his throat. Compromise. Zhongli isn’t compromising, he’s jumping straight to the overkill (hah) option. 

Ekaterina’s a good friend. He’ll miss her, in his new life with a new identity. It sucks that his tragic murder will upset her, but what can he do? He doesn’t want to go. He had been happy here. Zhongli is forcing his hand.

Bastard. 

It’s early evening when he texts Zhongli. I went out for lunch, got a bit too carried away with the wine. Can’t pick you up at the airport. Sorry. Can you get a taxi back? 

The reply is quicker than he thought it would be. 

Okay. I hope you had fun. Looking forward to being home and seeing you again. It looks like we’ll start boarding soon, I love you.

Fly safe, he texts back, playing the part. 

The scene is to be set. 

Childe sits at the dining room table, another glass of wine that he’s not really drinking in hand. He’s printed out a copy of their bank statement, too, placed in front of him like a piece of evidence. 

Then he sloshes his wine glass too much, letting the liquid spill, and slams it down o the table hard enough that more of the wine is outside it than in. He stands abruptly with such force his chair screeches back over the tiles. 

He grabs a knife out of the knife block. His murder weapon of choice, though they’ll never discover how many times it was used to stab poor Ajax.

Of course, he doesn’t actually stab himself. He’s never actually had to store his own blood before this (funnily enough) but well, you can’t fake your own death without picking up some new experiences along the way. 

He opens the bag he’s been saving, and starts painting the grand masterpiece of his own untimely end. 

First, Zhongli will stab Ajax in the kitchen, right by the sink. He lets some drip on the tiles. And then - Ajax will turn, and run, back out into the hallway. Childe does so, letting the blood stain his socks. He drips some onto a palm and presses it against the wall like he’s leaning onto it for support. 

The terrified Ajax will flee up the stairs, dripping all the way, leaving plenty of hand prints on the bannister. He will make it to the top of the stairs - where next? Bedroom. 

Then Childe loses his grip on the bag (because both of his hands are slick right now). 

“No, my bag of blood,” he whines out loud. Well, guess Ajax will fall over and be stabbed again right here. It’s close enough to what he originally envisioned anyway. 

After Ajax is dead, or near dead, Zhongli will drag his body to the bathroom, and put it in the bath. This bit isn’t quite so fun. He sits in the bath and washes the blood off him for a while. 

It isn’t perfect, but you don’t need perfect to fool the cops. 

After he’s blood free, and changed, he packs up what little he can get away with. The ‘murder’ weapon is put somewhere where Zhongli probably won’t find it before the police do. 

There’s just two things left. 

One, is sorting out the cameras. 

Two, is leaving his wedding ring somewhere dramatic. 

Zhongli’s probably already taken his off for the last time, he thinks glumly as he works his own off. 

Bastard. He would have done anything for Zhongli, and this is how he’s being repaid. 

He’s never going to have another relationship again. 

He drops the ring in the bathroom, and takes in for the last time the house he thought once would be his forever home. 

The rush of anger he feels when he sees another framed photo of them both (when did they stop being happy?) isn’t quite enough to drown out the homesickness he already feels, but it does make taking those final steps out easier. 

On their wedding day, Childe had thought it was too good to be true. Zhongli was so handsome, and so loving and affectionate. There’d been a red mark on his thigh where he’d pinched himself too hard, just something he’d done drunkenly. He remembers showing it to Zhongli that night (early morning), and he remembers Zhongli had made a cute comment and kissed him and then they had fallen into bed, both too intoxicated and exhausted to do anything more than fall asleep together. 

Maybe he’d gotten too soft, too naive in letting the worries of it falling away go. Maybe he’d been too happy for too long. 

He just… even if it was inevitable that Zhongli was going to fall out of love with him, why have him killed? 

Couldn’t even do it himself. Tch. 

He gives what was once his home a final look, then closes the back door behind him and leaves without a final look back. 

It’s easy enough to slink away without being noticed. He crosses a couple streets, keeping his head low just in case, until he comes to a nondescript white van. 

He unlocks it, and climbs in the back. 

Now, this sort of thing isn’t actually necessary. Nowadays cameras are pretty good, but there’s something fun and action movie-y about watching hidden cameras in the back of a white van. It makes him feel a little better, even if he’s not being greeted by a rack of old school monitors. 

Putting hidden cameras in his own murder scene is a risk, but he thinks it’ll be worth it just to see Zhongli get arrested. He thinks he’ll leave an anonymous call to the police when Zhongli gets home, pretend that he heard a concerning shout or something like that. 

He should have got popcorn to go with it. 

Oh well, he’ll celebrate later when Zhongli goes on trial. 

It’s a dull couple hours to spend, idling away in the uncomfortable back of a van. He hates it. He shouldn’t be here, he should be getting away as fast as he can and focusing on setting up a new life anywhere else but here.

And yet he’s not. Instead he’s thinking about how he wants to be back home, preparing a big pot of bamboo shoot soup to surprise Zhongli with when he walks in the front door. Or waiting anxiously in the arrivals area of the airport, ready to throw his arms around his husband as he stepped out from the gate and smother him in kisses.

No. Zhongli is not going to return to Childe’s arms, or the scent of food on the stove.

Because he doesn’t want that.

It’s not your fault, you can’t have done anything to justify this . It’s a little ironic, given what he does, but well - that just makes him an expert.

And he knows he’s not wrong.

It takes what feels forever, but eventually one of the cameras picks up the faint drone of a car pulling into the driveway.

This is it. He swallows down his dread. This is going to hurt, more than anything else, but he can’t look away.

The front door opens.

“Childe? I’m home,” Zhongli calls, as he steps inside and finally into view.

Subconsciously, Childe finds himself grinding his teeth.

He watches as Zhongli takes off his coat and hangs it up, third hook like always. “Childe?” He calls again, even though he must know that their neighbours can’t hear him. Does he think maybe the taxi driver can still hear him? Childe doesn’t know if the taxi driver is still here - probably?

Zhongli leaves his suitcase in the hallway, and continues on, past an accidental blindspot and into the living room.

“... Childe?” Zhongli calls again, and then Zhongli crosses into the kitchen, and sees the blood.

He doesn't know what he expected exactly - maybe joy? A little celebration? Or just neutrality, the same cold tone that  he had used in their text exchanges. Perhaps he’d just start practising a look of horror to be ready.

Zhongli does none of that. Even on his screen, Zhongli’s  full body flinch is obvious. “Ajax!” He shouts, and even Childe can’t deny that he sounds worried.

The usage of his birth name is unexpected. It wasn’t a huge secret, but still - he preferred to go by Childe and had for many years. It’s not a name someone who knew him would slip into easily.

Zhongli using it now… he doesn’t know how it makes him feel.

“Ajax, please answer me,” Zhongli pleads, following the blood trail out of the kitchen and up  the stairs.

Who does he think is going to answer? He’s alone in the house right now.

Zhongli’s usually a stickler for no shoes upstairs, but he ignores that now. Childe supposes the blood on his shoes will be a nice touch for the police.

“No, no, no, please, please…” It’s faint, but the camera still catches it. Zhongli practically runs, pushing off the walls to take the corners more quickly, through the bedroom and into the bathroom.

Who are you trying to fool? There’s no way you know about the cameras.

Sure, Zhongli’s always had a flair for the dramatics, but he’s not going to win an Oscar for this. And there isn’t anyone to see it! Or did he just expect his husband to have been killed off-site to not leave him with any scary cleanup?

Eurgh. Talk about entitled. This is what he paid for.

Zhongli steps into the bathroom, his shoes tapping against the once pristine tiles.

What a nice tub they have. It’s deep, as per Zhongli’s overly specific preferences.

Childe knows that from his angle, Zhongli can’t see if the bathtub is occupied or not. The camera in here is also better placed - as in, Childe can actually see Zhongli’s face properly.

Zhongli slows to a stop. His skin is ashy and his eyes are wide, breathing heavily like he’s already exhausted just from five minutes of pretending.

“Ajax…” Zhongli murmurs, and then strides forward to look in the empty but red stained tub.

His hands come to rest on the edge of the bathtub, looking like he if doesn’t hold onto it he’ll fall over.

This was meant to be… satisfying? Cathartic? Something that would add logs of fuel to the flame of his anger. Instead, he just feels shit. He doesn’t like seeing Zhongli upset or hurting, even now, and he doesn’t like that he gets to know what about himself.

He watches as Zhongli fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket, and presses it to his ear.

Oh, how boring. Childe wanted to be the one to call the police.

Next to his thigh, his phone lights up with the incoming call.

Childe stares at it blankly. Why would Zhongli be calling him? Zhongli believes he’s dead. He knows that no one is going to be picking up the phone. 

Back in the bathroom, Zhongli starts pacing, muttering things too quiet for the camera to properly pick up. 

Zhongli must just think that having these calls in the phone history will make it look better for the police - he doesn’t know that Childe only took his phone so he could dump it somewhere with something incriminating on it later. 

Zhongli calls again.

And again. 

And again. 

He’s still pacing anxiously, the hand that’s not holding the phone to his ear or redialling Childe’s number rubbing at his face. His hair is messy from where he’s gripped it too many times. When he faces the camera, Childe can see how pale he is. 

This is an act. Stop falling for it, he tells his traitorous heart. There’s no need to feel the urge to comfort him. Zhongli made his bed, and he is currently lying in it. 

Then Zhongli pauses, lowering the phone, gaze caught on something on the floor. Ah. Childe’s wedding ring. 

“No,” he says, the most broken sound Childe’s ever heard. The phone tumbles from his hand and he practically dives to the ground, presumably (off camera) to pick up the ring.

“Ajax,” Zhongli sobs. “Oh, Ajax, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.”

You asked for this, Childe snaps in his head. You wanted this. Don’t apologise when it’s too late!

How dare Zhongli buy his death, and then feel sad for it? How dare he apologise to a man he murdered? Childe’s teeth itch inside his skull, and he grits and grinds them. Oh, if only he could go there and punch Zhongli for this. How pathetic he looks, crouched down on the bathroom floor, acting like these aren’t consequences of his own making. Tartaglia doesn’t exactly come cheap - it’s not exactly a service that’s worth skimping out on.

“Drama queen,” he hisses, like Zhongli can hear him somehow. “Just call the fucking cops and be done with it.”

He hates this, but not for the reasons he thought he was going to. Where’s his heart being crushed and grinded down to smithereens under the heel of Zhongli’s boot? How’s he meant to focus on starting a new life when he knows this is how Zhongli reacts to thinking he’s dead? Bastard, bastard, bastard, he couldn’t even let Childe have this one thing-

One camera, Zhongli’s head shoots up suddenly, and Childe strains his eyes and ears to see what he’s reacting to. He watches as Zhongli straightens up, and goes across to the bedroom to look out the window overlooking the front drive.

“What’s happened?” Childe murmurs. It can’t be the police already - neither Childe nor Zhongli have called them - and even if either of them had, they wouldn’t be responding that quickly.

Zhongli stands up straight, wipes at his eyes, and then heads downstairs.

The front door is unlocked, apparently - because Childe’s eyes are drawn to one of the cameras downstairs as three suited men simply… enter their house without knocking.

Yeah, who the fuck are these people? Childe squints at his laptop screen, but he doesn’t recognise any of them. Zhongli must have invited them over, but why? He’s not stupid, he knows that hosting a party to celebrate becoming a widower is a bad idea. Maybe they’re there to act as witnesses?

“I thought I recognised your car,” Zhongli says as he comes down the stairs. His voice is clear, loud, and carries even over the laptop speakers - nothing like the voice of a man who only two minutes ago had been crying on a bathroom floor.

Or pretending to cry on the bathroom floor. Same thing.

“All these years, and you still haven’t changed your taste,” Zhongli continues, coming to face the trio in the front hallway - who have arranged themselves with a leader and two hanging behind.

“Hello, Morax,” the one at the front says, though Childe can hear the sneer.

Morax? Childe’s brain blanks. Did he hear that right? Did… Does Zhongli use a fake name? He’s seen Zhongli’s records, legally he is Zhongli and not Morax, so… what the hell?

“I know why you’re here,” Zhongli says - or rather, commands, his voice cold and flat. “Where is he and what is your price?”

The leader cocks his head to the side. “Your husband?”

“Who else. Why else would you be here?”

“Hm,” the leader hums, ignoring the sheer iciness in Zhongli’s voice, and taps a finger against his chin thoughtfully. “I’m curious as to what you’d pay to see your husband safe and sound. What money do you even still have access to, anyway? What if I specified… a hundred billion mora?”

“Tell me what you actually want. The sooner you tell me, and the less hurt he endured the greater I am willing to pay. Do not come here after kidnapping my husband and insult me.”

Hang on, but Childe’s not been kidnapped. He’s still sitting in his little van a few streets over, and a glance verifies that he is currently alone. Why would…

There’s a horrible, sinking feeling in his gut. This whole situation is wrong, so wrong, and he hates knowing he doesn’t have all the cards. Does Zhongli think maybe he can spin this as a kidnapping gone wrong? But why would anyone else claim to have kidnapped Childe? There’s no evidence (that they should know of, anyway) that this discussion even happened.

Maybe he shouldn’t have faked his death so quickly. He scrambles for his work phone to double check, but the texts definitely say my husband and not someone else’s husband.

“Haha, you’re right. What about the money and the information on all the informants you had placed? Oh don’t ‘I’m no longer Rex Lapis’ me, we both know you still know enough to ruin half of Liyue if you wanted to.”

Rex Lapis - he does know that, but it’s… the infamous head of the Liyue mafia, a name often spoken in hushed whispers to greedy journalists who loved a scoop on the messy underworld.

That’s not his Zhongli, who is meek and gentle and insists on carrying insects out. His Zhongli, who has never raised his voice and has palms so gentle he could fashion a castle out of cracked glass. His Zhongli, who called a hit out and didn’t call the police when he came home to blood. His Zhongli, who responds to the name Morax and is willing to negotiate with kidnappers in his home.

“Done,” Zhongli snaps. “Now-”

“Ah, so that is what you’d be willing to pay. All those deaths, for one common man.” The leader clicks his tongue. “That’s fun to know. Sadly, I can’t collect that, because I don’t have him. No, your little Ajax is dead. I actually came here to congratulate you on being a widower instead.”

For a few moments, no one moves a muscle.

Zhongli breaks it. “... What?” His voice has lost some of the commanding edge to it, his posture has drooped slightly.

“It was fun to watch you get your hopes up for a moment, though.” The leader laughs again. “I’m surprised you haven’t found his body yet. Or did they not leave it here? Maybe he’s bloated in a river already, or getting eaten in a shallow grave. You took what mattered to me, so I took what mattered to you. As they say, revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“I never touched your loved ones. I should have killed you a decade ago.”

His Zhongli, who says things such as ‘I should have killed you a decade ago’. Who did Childe marry?

“But you didn’t. And I have taken the greatest pleasure in this.” The leader clicks his tongue again. “Al Capone was jailed for tax evasion. They’ll tell a similar story about the feared Rex Lapis. Rex Lapis, who got away with everything, until he retired and had his spouse killed. Soon, the phone I used - or shall I say, you used - will be handed in as evidence. Your alibi won’t mean anything when they’ll have proof you hired a hitman for your darling little Ajax. It’ll be so sweet to see you inside a jail cell, finally, with none of your former allies to extract revenge.”

Fuck.

Ohhh fuck.

Childe hides his face in his hands.

Zhongli, I am so, so sorry. Oh gods.

He is so, so stupid.

He made Zhongli come home to his own blood. Childe can’t imagine how badly he would freak out if he came home to blood smeared everywhere. He thinks of how panicked Zhongli had sounded looking for him and how sad he had been in the bathroom. 

Childe did that to him. Childe broke him. 

He should have known something was wrong then. He should have picked up the phone when Zhongli called. Why didn’t he? 

In the hallway, Zhongli stands tall once again. “I understand. Thank you for-“ 

“Your eyes are still red, don’t pretend-“

Zhongli interrupts. “Thank you,” he repeats, louder, “for coming here and telling me in person that you are responsible for the death of my husband. That takes a lot of grace and courage.” 

Grace? They came to gloat, not out of any sense of obligation. This isn’t a kindness, and Zhongli knows that-

Zhongli steps forward, and then like a flash, he’s on them. There’s the glint of a knife that Childe didn’t even see him draw out in his hand, just for a second before Zhongli plunges it into the side of one of the follower’s neck, blood spraying out. 

Childe blinks in shock - Zhongli doesn’t know how to fight… he thought Zhongli didn’t know how to fight, even though Zhongli goes to the gym regularly and Childe is intimately familiar with what muscles Zhongli has. 

Zhongli slips behind the stabbed man before the other two can even react, slipping a hand inside the jacket and pulling out the gun. 

“It takes stupidity too,” Zhongli sneers, even as the other two pull out their own guns. The stabbed man chokes and sputters as he dies, unable to drop to the ground due to Zhongli’s iron grip.

Fights in real life are quick, and Childe can barely follow the movement as Zhongli raises his arm and shoots the second follower in the chest, right before he rips his knife out in a spray of blood that ruins a painting. Before the man can fall, Zhongli pushes him towards the leader. Another gunshot rings out, Childe’s breath hitches, but there’s no gasp of pain or spray of scarlet. 

The leader falls to the ground, with the mistake of leaving his hand out - Zhongli stamps on it ruthlessly, grinding the fragile bones under his heel. 

“Did you really think you would leave here alive?” Zhongli spits, voice full of venom. His other foot presses down on the throat of the leader, leaving him to choke and claw fruitlessly. “You come to my home telling me you have slaughtered the love of my life, and you think that I will not destroy you?” 

He’s so hot, Childe thinks, despite the awful circumstances. Maybe, after this, if his marriage is saved and Zhongli forgives him for everything, Zhongli can teach him some moves. Should he be more focused on the fact that Zhongli just killed two men by the front door? Maybe, but violent death is old news to him. He wants to see Zhongli in action with his own eyes and not through a camera with a suboptimal angle. 

“Grk,” the leader gasps out. Zhongli presses down harder, ignoring the other hand that’s still trying to lever his foot off and scrambling at his ankle. 

“And then you have the sheer gall to use his birth name, like you have the right,” he continues. “Did you really think two morons with guns they didn’t even have drawn would protect you from my wrath? Did you really think threatening me with jail would cower me into submission after what you have done?” 

The leader tries to speak, or so Childe thinks - but the throaty wheezes are impossible to make out as actual words. 

“Did you think that retiring made me soft? You’re even stupider than I remembered. I only let you live those years ago because it was convenient and you foolishly mistook it for weakness,” he seethes. “Thank you for making killing you so easy, after so long. Your death will be the last pleasure I will have for a long time.” 

Childe doesn’t tear his eyes off the screen until finally the leader falls limp. 

Then he shoves his laptop to the side and clambers into the driver’s seat as fast as he can. 

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” he prays, as he starts the van, but maybe it’s too late for that. The van rumbles to life and Childe speeds back home, breaking as many traffic laws as he thinks is possible in a five minute drive. 

If he hadn’t been nosy and put up cameras for his own masochistic curiosity - Childe dreads to think of the alternate life he nearly stumbled into where Zhongli is framed for a murder he didn’t even want to happen. 

Gods, will Zhongli ever forgive him for this? 

Childe doesn’t know, but even if he doesn’t, at least neither of them will believe the other is dead or be in jail. 

He skids in behind the car still parked on the driveway, definitely ruining one of their flower beds in the process, but he doesn’t care right now. 

Childe barely remembers to actually put the handbrake on before he slams the door open and bursts back into his home, pushing their first door open so hard he’s sure it’ll leave a dent in the wall. 

The bodies haven’t been moved since he last saw, though part of his brain notes that the leader has an extra stab wound now. “Zhongli!” He calls as he jumps over them and narrowly avoids slipping in the blood. “Zhongli, it’s me!” 

There’s a creak from upstairs, and Childe starts running for the stairs, taking them two at a time until Zhongli appears at the top, bloodstained and wide-eyed and beautiful and his. 

“Ajax?” He murmurs, incredulous, just a moment before Childe launches himself up the last stretch with such force he bowls them both into the carpet. 

“I’m here,” Childe replies, tugging Zhongli as close as he can, wrapping his arms around him and entangling their legs. “I’m here, I’m okay.” 

“I- I thought…” Zhongli’s voice cracks, even as his palms run over Childe’s torso searchingly and end up cupping his cheeks. His eyes dart frantically over every part of his face, still red-rimmed, and Childe places one of his hands over Zhongli’s own.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Zhongli.” 

He’s never been so uncomfortable in his life, lying on a stained carpet, but he’s never been so relieved in his life. Zhongli’s in his arms again, looking at him like he’s the whole world again, and there’s nowhere he’d rather be. 

“You’re really not hurt?” Zhongli murmurs, shifting to knock their foreheads together. 

“I’m fine, I promise. I’m not hurt,” Childe breathes, revelling in the heavy warmth of Zhongli’s palm grounding him. 

Zhongli’s eyelashes flutter, and a ghost of a smile crosses his lips. They stay like that for a few moments, foreheads pressed together and noses brushing, sharing breaths, and then Zhongli shifts to bury his face in Childe’s neck. He can feel his heartbeat shuddering, and he hopes that Zhongli can feel his too. 

Zhongli clings to him like he might disappear if he lets go, nails digging into his back through his shirt. 

“I love you,” Childe says, burying his nose in the side of Zhongli’s head that isn’t speckled with dry blood. 

“How?” Zhongli’s voice is somewhat muffled. “What happened? They told me you were dead.” 

Childe swallows thickly. “Zhongli… I…” There’s three dead men downstairs, and yet the words still clog in his throat. “I haven’t been honest with you.” 

“Neither have I.” 

Isn’t it a little stupid to be worried about how many people you’ve killed when you just watched your husband kill three?

“I’m a hired killer. I was the one the guy downstairs contacted to kill me. So… I just sprayed a bunch of blood around and left.” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to hate me. And I’m sorry I hurt you.” 

He feels Zhongli’s chest push against his as he takes a deep breath in, and a long exhale. “They just happened to contact you, of all people they could have asked?” 

“I know. It’s crazy.” Zhongli doesn’t say anything, and Childe can feel his palms start to sweat. He tries to pull Zhongli closer. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry- Please forgive me, please,” he begs. 

“I just… I nearly lost you, and I only didn’t because of a coincidence,” Zhongli says, pulling back, but just enough to nuzzle his nose against Childe’s. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have left. If they’d tried anyone but you…” 

“They didn’t. It’s okay.”

“I haven’t been honest with you either. I used to be in organised crime. I made a lot of enemies. That’s why they wanted to hurt you, just to get back at me for something I did years ago. Will you forgive me, Childe?” 

“Of course,” he laughs. “Of course. I’m just so happy you didn’t actually want me dead.” 

“Wait - Did you think…?” Zhongli inhales sharply. “I would never do that, Childe. I could never. I love you. When I saw all the blood, and I thought…” he audibly swallows. 

“I know,” Childe says, and kisses the tip of Zhongli’s nose. “It’s okay. I know.” He gives him a comforting smile. “Let’s get up and get all the blood off you.” 

Zhongli hesitates, but then he nods, and slowly pulls his hands away from Childe. 

Later, when Zhongli is in the bath, and Childe is slowly washing his hair, Zhongli catches hold of his wrist and presses a kiss to his soapy palm. 

“My love,” he says. “My darling. I can scarcely believe you’re mine.” 

Childe’s hand twitches away, but he smiles anyway. “Says you.” He leans down, and brushes his lips over Zhongli’s exposed forehead before going back to sliding his hands through wet hair and kneading his scalp. “Will you tell me everything about who you were?” 

Zhongli hums lightly, closing his eyes and leaning back into Childe’s touch. “Anything for you. I retired a long time ago. I was thinking of it, and then I met you, and I knew I had to get out sooner rather than later.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” he tuts, even as his grin grows wider. “There’s no need to seduce me, I’m already all yours.” 

Zhongli hums again. “Will you tell me about you? About how my beautiful, charming husband became a hired killer?” 

“Yes, I will.” It seems surreal that after hiding for so long, this is something he can just say now. “But later.” 

Between the two of them, he thinks they’ll have enough experience to dispose of the dead and restore their home to what it was, but right now those seem like issues for later. The past, horrible week feels like an eternity ago yet all he wants to do now is sleep in Zhongli’s embrace. 

They stay there until the water gets cold, and then they climb into bed even though it’s still early. Zhongli never dressed, and Childe stripped, desperate to be so close that he can’t tell where they end or begin anymore. 

Childe closes his eyes, does not think about how their wedding album is no longer in its usual place, and gets lost in how it feels to have his husband back. 

They do not move from that position for a very long time.