Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lol I tried

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It was an evening like any other, the amber glow of the setting sun casting long shadows over Liyue Harbor. Childe, the 11th Harbinger of the Fatui, had just returned from an intense mission. His coat still drenched from a skirmish in the wild, he had been eager to return to Zhongli. The man, stoic and wise, was the one person who could always ground him. His calm presence, his quiet strength—it was a respite from the chaos of the Fatui's work.

But tonight, something felt off.

As Childe stepped into the grand hall of Wangshu Inn, a peculiar sense of unease gnawed at him. Zhongli’s scent lingered in the air, but there was something wrong about it. It didn’t feel like home, not like it used to. The warmth of the hearth seemed colder, the silence heavier.

A faint noise from the adjacent room broke his train of thought—a soft, rhythmic sound that sent a chill down his spine. He furrowed his brows, a familiar sense of danger surging within him. He followed the noise instinctively, his heart thundering in his chest. He’d felt this disquiet before during battles, the sense that something was about to shatter.

He pushed open the door.

There, in the dim light of the room, Zhongli was in the arms of another.

Childe’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the sight in front of him. Zhongli, his lover, his confidante, was pressed against another man. The stranger’s arms were wrapped around Zhongli’s waist, their faces inches apart. Zhongli, normally so composed, looked... different. His lips were parted, eyes closed in a way Childe had never seen before. There was no mask of control, no layer of restraint.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze.

The stranger, a tall man with sharp features and an unfamiliar aura, leaned in to kiss Zhongli’s neck. Zhongli, though not pulling away, seemed lost in the sensation. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, completely unaware of the intrusion.

For a long, agonizing second, Childe stood motionless in the doorway, the weight of the betrayal pressing down on him. His grip tightened on the doorframe, his knuckles turning white. His mind raced, words jumbled in a whirlwind of disbelief, anger, and confusion.

But then the silence shattered.

"Zhongli…" Childe’s voice was strained, hoarse, barely a whisper. The sound of his name, spoken with such raw emotion, echoed in the room, but Zhongli didn’t turn.

The man in Zhongli’s arms looked over his shoulder, his gaze flicking to Childe with something close to pity. Zhongli, however, slowly opened his eyes, his gaze finally meeting Childe’s. There was no shock, no denial in his expression. Only the weight of reality sinking in.

"Childe…" Zhongli’s voice was low, almost apologetic, but the pain was unmistakable.

Childe’s heart raced, and the fire that had been simmering inside him finally erupted. The emotions that had been bubbling under the surface for weeks, for months, came crashing down. His usually confident voice trembled as he spoke again, louder this time.

“Why?” His voice cracked, the single word heavy with accusation. “Why would you do this? To me?”

Zhongli stood frozen for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he slowly pulled away from the stranger, stepping toward Childe. The other man, sensing the tension, quietly exited the room, leaving them alone in the heavy silence.

The weight of the moment seemed unbearable. Childe's fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with rage, and yet, a part of him felt hollow. His love for Zhongli, a love he had given freely, unconditionally, now felt like a cruel joke.

“I’m sorry,” Zhongli began, but Childe could already feel the walls rising between them. The apology meant nothing.

"Sorry?" Childe spat, taking a step back, his eyes narrowing. "Sorry doesn't fix this. You... you promised me. You promised we'd be—"

"Childe, please." Zhongli’s voice was calm, but there was something different about it now—something strained. "You must understand. This was never meant to hurt you. But things change. People change."

"People change?!" Childe laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cold. "And here I thought I was the one who did the changing. I thought I was the monster. But it’s you. It’s always been you."

Zhongli reached out, but Childe recoiled, as if Zhongli's touch was a firebrand.

"You don't get to say that," Childe hissed. "You don’t get to do this to me and then expect me to just... accept it. I’ve been loyal to you. To *us*. And this is how you repay me?"

Zhongli’s face twisted with pain, and for the first time, Childe saw it—the vulnerability, the regret—but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

"Childe..." Zhongli’s voice was soft, almost pleading, but Childe didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when everything had shattered.

"I don’t want to hear your excuses." Childe turned on his heel, his voice trembling with fury. "I should have known. I should have known better than to think I was enough."

With one final glance at Zhongli, Childe stormed out of the room, leaving the quiet behind him.

Outside, the wind whipped through the streets of Liyue. The city, so familiar and warm, now felt foreign to him. He was alone, even amidst the bustling world around him. And as he walked away, the weight of the betrayal hung over him like an unshakable fog.

He wasn’t sure what would happen next. But he was certain of one thing: he couldn’t look at Zhongli the same way again.

Chapter Text

The weight of the night clung to Childe as he stormed through the streets of Liyue. The familiar sounds of the harbor, the chatter of vendors, and the distant calls of seagulls all felt like distant echoes, as if the world around him had muted in the wake of his heartbreak. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, filled with anger, betrayal, and a deep, gnawing ache in his chest.

But there was no time to dwell. He had made up his mind.

He had to leave.

When he reached the entrance of Wangshu Inn, his eyes lingered for a moment on the door to Zhongli’s room. The place where they had spent countless nights together, the quiet moments of intimacy and affection, all now shattered into irreparable fragments.

He pushed the door open, stepping into the room that once felt like home. His steps were heavy, his heart leaden. The room, bathed in the dim glow of the evening sun, felt eerily empty despite the belongings scattered across the room—his clothes, his weapons, and the mementos they had shared together. Everything felt out of place now.

With deliberate movements, he began to pack. He folded his clothes with a sharp precision, the actions mechanical as if his body was acting without consulting his mind. His fingers brushed over his favorite coat, the one Zhongli had once commented suited him well, but now it felt like nothing more than a reminder of the lies that had been spun.

He picked up the blade, the weight of it comforting in his hands, though it did nothing to ease the storm inside him. He couldn’t focus. His mind kept replaying the image of Zhongli, his lover, in the arms of another man. The feeling of betrayal was suffocating, crushing him in ways he never thought possible.

As he turned to grab his last few things, a soft, familiar voice interrupted the silence.

"Childe."

His heart skipped a beat, and his breath caught in his throat. Zhongli stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of regret and desperation. His usually calm demeanor was replaced with a broken fragility Childe had never seen before. The old man’s eyes were wide, filled with a sorrow that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

“I… I didn’t want this,” Zhongli continued, his voice low and laden with guilt. “Please, hear me out.”

Childe’s back was to him, but he could feel Zhongli’s presence, the gravity of it pulling at him even as he fought to ignore it. He clenched his jaw, his fists tightening around the items he had gathered.

“I’ve heard enough, Zhongli,” Childe said, his voice cold, but a tremor betrayed his composed exterior. “You’ve said enough. I don’t need your excuses or your apologies. They won’t fix this.”

Zhongli took a step forward, his gaze searching Childe’s face as if looking for something—anything—that could reassure him. But Childe didn’t want reassurance. He wanted to hurt, because the pain was the only thing he could feel now.

"I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness," Zhongli said, his voice breaking. "I failed you. I failed us. But I never wanted to betray you. I… I made a mistake. Please, let me explain."

Childe turned then, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and sadness. “Explain?” he sneered, his lips curling in frustration. “Explain how you let someone else touch you like I used to? How you let someone else have what I thought was ours?”

The sting in his words hit both of them. Zhongli flinched, visibly recoiling as if the pain in Childe’s voice cut deeper than any weapon could.

“I didn’t want it to happen,” Zhongli whispered, his voice filled with regret. “But something in me—something I’ve never understood—was drawn to him. And when I saw you, so full of life, so vibrant and strong, I felt... like I was nothing. I felt like I was losing something I didn’t even understand I needed. But it was a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

Childe’s chest tightened, the weight of Zhongli’s words almost unbearable, but the betrayal still stung too much. “And what? Now you realize what you’ve lost?” His eyes narrowed, his voice rising in anger. “Now you regret it? It’s too late for that.”

Zhongli took another step forward, his voice steady but filled with sorrow. “I do regret it, Childe. I regret it more than anything. You were right. I promised you. I should have never let it come to this. But I was weak. I let doubt and fear cloud my judgment.”

“Doubt? Fear?” Childe spat, the frustration building. “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to be afraid? To fear losing someone? To fear being abandoned? Do you think I don’t understand that pain? But I never let it destroy what I had with you.”

Zhongli’s eyes filled with a deep, almost unbearable sadness, and for a moment, Childe saw something in his eyes that made his heart waver. But the doubt quickly faded, swallowed by the overwhelming ache that refused to loosen its grip.

“I know I hurt you,” Zhongli said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “I understand if you can’t forgive me. But I’m asking you, please don’t leave. Don’t leave me like this.”

Childe looked at him, his chest tight as if a battle raged inside him. Part of him—"the part that loved Zhongli"—wanted to run into his arms, to forgive him and pretend like nothing had changed. But the other part, the part that had been betrayed so completely, stood frozen, immovable.

“I don’t know how to trust you anymore,” Childe said finally, his voice breaking with raw emotion. “You broke me, Zhongli. You broke us.”

Zhongli’s face crumpled as if every word Childe spoke pierced him like a thousand daggers. He closed his eyes briefly, as if in silent anguish, before stepping closer once more.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he whispered. “But please, don’t walk away. I will do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, Childe. I’ll fight for you, if you’ll let me.”

Childe’s heart ached, his fists trembling with the weight of his decision. The pain of what had happened still cut through him like a blade, but as he stood there, staring at Zhongli—his once-beloved—the lingering desire for closure, for reconciliation, tugged at him.

“I don’t know,” Childe murmured, his voice distant. “I don’t know if I can.”

With one last glance at Zhongli, Childe picked up the final item from the bed—his coat—and turned to leave.

As he reached the door, Zhongli’s voice, broken and pleading, reached him one last time.

“Childe, please...”

But Childe didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The door closed behind him with a heavy, final thud.

And Zhongli, standing in the quiet of their room, realized too late that sometimes love could not be mended so easily.