Chapter Text
Ningguang must be intimidating to many men. Childe compares her to La Signora in his head while the woman walks from her desk to the shipping schedule on full display on a board settled at the front of the room. They’ve met at neutral grounds, borrowing the largest and most elegant of the Liuli Pavillion private rooms for such a diplomatic meeting. It’s really a sham, Childe knows, the murder of three Qixing members has thrown Liyue into somewhat of a mild panic. Neither the Tianquan or Yuheng seem concerned at all and many citizens are simply worried for what further trouble it could cause, not for the loss of those particular lives.
“The Okhotsk Sea.” Ningguang voices her demand. Childe has been expecting this, the careful scrolls and knowledge sent to him from Snezhnaya were right on the money, so to speak. The Okhotsk Sea is technically under Snezhnaya’s control and more than that, only Snezhnayan ships could cut through the thick ice floes. It’s also one of the fastest ways from Liyue to Fontaine and Natlan.
One of Snezhnaya’s strongest pieces in the trade war so to speak.
“Ah, yes, what about it? You’ll have to forgive me, I normally don’t deal with the diplomatic side of things, but as the senior officer in Liyue. . .” Childe trails off and smiles his most winsome smile. It hurts his face and he does wonder what the pristine walls of the room would look like covered in blood. The thought is muted, however, a dull curiosity rather than the invasive claws his thoughts sometimes carry. It’s almost a pleasant hum of battlelust, keeping him from drifting in such a boring conversation.
“I assure you, the Qixing aren’t asking you to relinquish it.” Ningguang drags a finger from one column of the schedule to another. “Nor asking for an expansion of the trade permits.”
Childe’s eyes snap to her face instead of the board she’s gesturing at. Her face is a perfect mask of civility, of course, but he knows she’s as much of an ambitious predator as he is. That’s what she has in common with La Signora — a woman with a goal and the power to protect what’s hers. Though he’s heard of her from the local children, apparently just as he likes spoiling them so does she.
“That’s unexpected,” he says, honestly.
“If I may be frank.” Ningguang starts, and waits for his affirmation. After he nods, knowing his curiosity is plain on his face but not caring. After all, people like him don’t play such games. “All of the stars in the sky are doomed to fall at some time, and as you may have noticed, Liyue needs not for seven of them.”
Ah, she knows. It would be strange that she didn’t, but even stranger that she hasn’t leveraged it as a way to further remove the Fatui from Liyue.
“Hm, is that so? Don’t you need seven stars to make up a constellation?” Childe crosses his arms, knowing he comes off as challenging. Her reply of laughter is light, like gemstones being sifted through, rich only because one knows the value of them.
“Times are changing, and so are the patterns other’s see in the sky. The stars are nothing if not supported by mora.” Her smile is almost welcoming. “And so, I propose that Snezhnaya strikes a treaty with me for use of the Okhotsk Sea Passage. In return the senior officer of the Fatui in the Liyue shall be considered an honorary member of the Qixing.”
Childe stares.
“Now, don’t look so surprised. It’s not a position meant for you, of course, but to leave it as a position that allows Snezhnaya footing in Liyue. It’s an honor to have.”
“Such overtures, you’re very cunning, aren’t you?” Childe huffs a laugh. Of course. The ‘honorary’ position is perfect in that the people of Liyue will accept it and with the honorary tacked on, the actual power the ‘Snezhnayan Qixing’ would have is truly limited. It isn’t without its own benefits, such as Snezhnaya being cemented in Liyue, a position that even Ningguang herself would have a hard time undoing.
Further, without Rex Lapis’s divine interventions for business, strengthening global trade is a good option for Liyue. It’s not a position Childe wants, it sounds dull and paper pushing has never been his forte. However it is indisputable that Ningguang proposes a good deal for Snezhnaya. The Fatui are disliked among many nations and while Childe can’t blame the distrust given to them the occasional embargos and ‘mistakes’ when it comes to economics in their favor are often dealt with in bloody ways. He’s more than happy to oblige being the sword in that case, but he’s had it drilled into his head long enough to know it doesn’t make for very good business. Much like Liyue, Snezhnaya is a nation of commerce and production.
“Cunning? Simply put, I have an interest in the future.”
“Then, let me correct myself. You want to make a good investment.” Childe makes a big show of thinking it over. His peers may think he doesn’t have the temperament or knowledge to make such deals, but they certainly underestimate his devotion to the Tsaritsa. In a funny way, Childe feels Ningguang might see right to the truth of his representation of his Archon.
“Of course.”
What a woman. She knows exactly how she comes off and if Childe didn’t know better, he might be fooled as well. But it’s not so strange for him to imagine. Those who wage war whether it be by blood or business only do so because something is nestled deep within their hearts.
“Snezhnaya agrees.” Childe holds out his hand. Being a Harbinger he can make such overtures, the only higher authority than him is the Tsaritsa herself. In theory some of the other Harbingers could try to exert their authority, but very few of them would want to challenge him like that. Too messy.
Ningguang easily takes his hand. The sharp rings she wears indenting his gloves but not piercing them. He wonders if she’s ever used her rings to slit a man’s throat, it’s easy to imagine. It’s too bad he doubts she’d ever try with him, but it would be interesting.
“We’re in accord then.”
There is certainly no good reason for new hilichurls to appear around Liyue again. Childe theorizes that the portals from the Abyss were opening more and more due to Rex Lapis ‘dying’. The old gods and Abyss trying to strike assuming the nation is now weak. Childe keeps this thought to himself, especially when asked to sit in on “Qixing” meetings, now of which the numbers dwindled to the Yuheng, Tianquan, Tianshu and himself. The meetings are brief, he suspects there are longer ones that he isn’t asked to attend.
He volunteers to patrol and rid Liyue of the new menaces and surprisingly, the Yuheng works with him. Patrols of half-Fatui and half-Millelith are formed and Keqing and Childe take rotations. He finds her refreshing, actually, even though she clearly doesn’t like him she’s very professional. And blunt. Whenever they work together she point-blank tells him her thoughts, how much she dislikes him and his methods but is happy to use his strength to her advantage, even if she doesn’t trust him.
There are rare occasions when Childe simply heads out with Zhongli, tells his men to take the day off and revels in the destruction the two of them can cause. Zhongli is an interesting fighter, all control and poise, but with both a shield and polearm he controls reach easily. Childe wonders what it would be like to see Zhongli fight desperately, no shield, only fists or a broken blade at his disposal. Part of him wants to see that side of Zhongli as well. He doubts he ever will, not with the enemies they fight. In truth, Childe could handle them all himself, but every time he suggests it his underlings look like they’re going to have heart attacks.
Of course, on a day just like any other day — “I think we’re being mocked.” Childe comments. Next to him Zhongli makes a somewhat noncommittal noise. Childe’s never seen a Lawachurl that large before, nor one with six arms. Not only that, but it had buddies.
“It is not unusual for Stonehide Lawachurls to be found in Liyue,” Zhongli’s voice is as even as possible, but since they’ve spent so much time together, Childe can read between the lines. They both know there’s something terribly off about this. The Lawachurls are mostly Stonehide but among them are Aquaclawed Lawachurls as well, the shimmering water shields wrapped around them grotesquely.
“I swear they’re adapting.” Childe mutters under his breath. Zhongli gives him a look, one that unfortunately agrees with his careless statement. “Well, it’s not like I don’t grow stronger with every fight either!”
Despite the Lawachurls being larger, they were not necessarily more difficult to handle, but hubris is the beginning of any downfall. The Stonehide Lawachurls are the same as always, even with more arms, once their shield breaks they go down so quickly. Childe finds himself laughing and vaulting over the beasts, dragging his blades of water through their bodies with ease.
The more Lawachurls that come — and Childe can’t see from where they’re coming from, there’s no rotting Abyss portal and no hilichurl campsite as far as he can see — the more deformed they appear. More than six arms, more than one head, some look as though they’ve been skewered through by spears of earth or black ice. Jagged broken things from the Abyss. So kin to him.
Childe borrows a page from Zhongli’s book, his Delusion sparking to life with an Electro shield to mitigate some of the heavy blows from the Lawachurls. Unlike Zhongli he doesn’t stride forward, immovable as a mountain, under his shield but uses it to glance off fists and rock to duck and weave closer without being thrown back. The lightning bends, and maybe it’s because Childe understands Hydro better than Electro or his own preferences but either way the shield never shatters. Water flows; and even the ice in Snezhnaya eventually becomes brittle.
That’s why he thinks the cracking sound he hears is ice. The sound is so much like the large floes that in the heat of summer send gunshot loud booms through the air. Out of the corner of his eye Childe sees amber light fragment and shimmer, the ever present shield around Zhongli cracking under the force of one of the larger mutated Lawachurl’s pressing its arms against it.
Zhongli used to be an Archon, and even without his gnosis, Childe has no illusions as to how strong Zhongli is.
But Childe is someone who lives by what he can do, not what he expects from others.
The fist of the Lawachurl breaks through Zhongli’s shield as two different things happen. Zhongli himself spins on his heel, spear rolling over the back of his hand to point towards the beast. And the massive clawed hand of Childe’s Foul Legacy form closes over the face of the Lawachurl and crushes its skull. A dark boiling blackness fills Childe’s mind, his fingers breaking bone just as loudly as Zhongli’s shield had cracked.
He didn’t hold onto the transformation long, letting it fade away almost instantly, but doing so quickly made him stumble. One step, then the other, the darkness is just another future. A painful lesson his teacher had given him from the Abyss let his feet carry his momentum, blades reforming as his claws fade and Childe’s stumble looks more like a controlled dash through the remaining enemies, trails of water and lightning in his wake.
Zhongli must be doing cleanup, Childe can hear roars and the dull thumping of pillars of earth hitting bodies and sinking back into the ground. He swallows blood and spit, scolding himself for allowing the dark of the Abyss to tug too harshly on him and realizes he can’t feel his throat. The choke and cough that erupts briefly stutters his breathing and Childe presses a hand to his own neck, navigating the muscle through touch to force his mind into alignment with a body he can’t feel.
Several slow breaths and one turn later, Childe can see the massacre he and Zhongli left behind.
“Sorry, didn’t want your clothes to get dirty.” Childe calls out. True enough, despite Zhongli’s shield breaking once, the former Archon had barely any dust smudged across his dark coat. Childe knows he looks a world difference, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Looking regal and untouched isn’t his preference, anyway.
Zhongli’s brows draw together and the searching look he gives Childe is laden with more questions than Childe ever wants to deal with. Instead of asking, however, Zhongli simply nods, “I appreciate the assistance, even if it is unneeded. My body is not made of the same things as a human’s may be, despite appearances.”
“Archons bleed and Archons die, and you’re less than that.” Childe points out but he stretches, feeling a patch of numbness in his lower back and left leg, “And you’re less than an Archon now, but don’t think of it as some kind of concern for you. It’s more. . . what kind of person am I if I don’t act when I see you in trouble? It’s more of what I want to be to you, than how I think of you.” Childe finishes, realizing it sounds rather lame but it’s exactly how he feels as well. For how brief he used his Foul Legacy the numbness seems far too numerous, something he’ll have to investigate at a later date.
“. . . ah.” Zhongli’s voice is small and quiet.
“You could still be the God of War and I’d act as I want to. Protection is a choice not something to do out of fear.” It’s a principle that he’s been told is part of what gets him into trouble sometimes. It’s just that most people don’t understand. Childe chooses to love his family and cherish them as he does, he chooses to serve the Tsaritsa and he’s chosen to start a relationship with Zhongli.
The Abyss is a constant pressure in his head, something that he can’t control or choose, just as it had been oppressive when he had been a child. And so Childe doesn’t allow himself to be yoked unless it’s by choice.
“At a detriment to yourself.” Zhongli murmurs. Childe looks down at himself, scanning for any injuries he can’t feel but he doesn’t see anything out of place. Zhongli walks closer, stands near him and lightly draws a hand down Childe’s back. He either lifts his fingers or stops them on the spot he can’t feel.
“Ha, got me didn’t it.” Childe says, as though he had already known.
“It doesn’t look deep, but I’d like to repay your action with care.”
Out of all of the people who have tended to any wounds on Childe’s back, Zhongli is certainly the most gentle. The worst offender would be Childe himself, who when he had first gotten a deep slash across his back had laid out ointment on the floor and flopped back onto it as if that would have done anything except reopen the scab and bleed all over the floor. Childe’s not sure anyone has peeled the shirt off of his back with the care Zhongli does. While Childe’s mother is a caring woman, she is also the mother of seven and Childe is the middle child.
The temperature in Zhongli’s home is warm but without any of the stagnant humidity the rest of Liyue seems to have. Childe has to wonder if there’s some kind of Adepti magic or hidden fans in the ceiling that keep the air circulation so pleasant. He’s wondered about it before, but never asked. It’s not particularly important, but it is something he appreciates when they share a bed and when he’s sitting on one of the hardwood stools, shirtless as Zhongli presumably pokes and prods at whatever wound he has. It doesn’t inhibit any of his movement but the fact that it’s on his back and he can’t feel it could cause problems.
It’s too easy to imagine it as a deep gaping hole that shows his bone and to imagine Zhongli’s fingers prodding deep within him. That, he knows isn’t true at all, but blood clouds his mind. He hears the snip of scissors, presumably the one Zhongli’s giving him stitches for something. His thoughts take a sharp veer, away from Zhongli’s bloody fingers against his skin to his own clutching the suture scissors and driving them deep into the other man’s neck.
“I imagine you’ve done this before.” Childe tries to strike up easy conversation, something to take his mind off of his own dark thoughts.
“Not often.” Zhongli pauses, and then his fingertips ghost across Childe’s bare shoulders. The touch feels reassuring but also questioning. “Healing has never been my forte or in my interests. I find it’s more relevant since I’ve relinquished my gnosis.”
“Well, you’re being very gentle.” Childe replies. He resists the urge to slump and lean into Zhongli’s hands. Since they’ve apologized and ‘made up’ so to speak they’ve spent time together but not been intimate again. Childe’s not really sure how they go about returning to what they were. Every conversation and meal and time they’d fallen into bed had felt so natural. It seems weird to bring it up in conversation, now.
“Am I?” Zhongli sounds puzzled.
“Like those fairies from the legends, you know? Tending to wounded soldiers, tempting them to stray from their wives.”
“A Snezhnayan myth? Liyue is not a country of fairies and I believe any Adeptus would be quite irritated to be described as such.” The humor is not lost on either of them.
“One we borrowed from Fontaine, I think. Water fairies and such. We don’t have many in Snezhnaya, of course, but soldiers who go far from home have brought back tales like that.” Childe’s told a few of these stories to his siblings. Always with more embellishment involving heroic feats and less wife stealing. “Or cunning soldiers who bring home the pelt of a fairy, stealing her to make her his wife.”
“An unwilling wife cannot be bound by an immoral contract.”
“You know, Zhongli, since you’re not an Archon anymore you should approach these things as we mortals do.” Childe has no idea how far Zhongli is into the stitches, he wants to crane his neck around to check for himself but experience has taught him if the cut is across the bend of his muscle it will undo any stitches instantly.
“Hm?” Zhongli’s unusually short answer is funny in its own way.
“Contracts are for business, but promises are for people.” Childe nods. “And the punishment for breaking a promise is that you have to own up to it and apologize. The bright side is, most broken promises can be mended, even if it won’t be the same after.”
“You sound like you have experience in such matters.” Zhongli finally leans back, wiping his hands on a small towel. “I am not unfamiliar with promises, you’ll have to give me time to adjust to the semantics of it.”
Childe catches Zhongli’s hands before the man can wipe all the blood off. The red is already drying, tacky and some of it flaking as Childe rubs his thumbs over Zhongli’s stained skin. “No, I think you aren’t familiar at all.”
“Vows are taken seriously in Liyue.”
“That’s mean! You can’t just assume Snezhnaya doesn’t take promises just as seriously.” Childe searches for the words. Zhongli waits patiently, not even pulling his hands back. “A promise is about the people it’s made between. There’s no ‘I swear to the Archons above’ or anything. If I make a promise to you it’s only between you and me. And if promises are broken it’s not divine punishment, but something you need to solve yourself.”
Childe doesn’t say it, but he knows that some promises are always broken.
“That’s very informal.” Zhongli lets go of Childe’s hands, cleaning his hands properly.
“Don’t you think it’s just very human? Archons shoulder the burden of their people and carry the grievances of the world. It’s people’s choice what to do with their own promises.”
“Is that so?” Zhongli’s hands hover between them, hesitant. “I’m afraid the difference still seems somewhat inconsequential. Choosing to break a promise doesn’t repair the breach of contract.”
Childe takes Zhongli’s right hand in both of his, then. Zhongli carries battle scars, but despite that his fingers are still elegant. Calloused, a warrior’s hands, but they don’t look out of place holding a priceless antique or a pen. Childe knows his own scarred fingers look quite odd around such things.
“I think you’ve missed the point.” He lets one of his hands drop away and laces their fingers together. Zhongli’s hand stays lax, so Childe lets go and hops off the stool. He can’t feel the pull of stitches, and it’s hard to guess exactly which movement will tug them in the wrong way. Zhongli’s hands press against his skin, at his shoulder blades and then gently downward. He steadies Childe, keeps his posture one way, rather than the other, and when Childe can’t feel the touch he makes a guess Zhongli’s hands are pressed to either side of the wound.
“Careful.” Zhongli says.
“As thanks for patching me up, how should I repay you?”
“— I would like to try it, a promise.” Zhongli responds as if he’s answering Childe’s question, even though his statement is clearly not.
“All right then, I’ll make a promise with you.” Childe turns so he can face Zhongli, “What kind of promise do you want to make?”
“Promise me to never draw on that Abyssal power again.” Zhongli’s words cut right through Childe. It’s unfair how the ex-Archon can see right to the heart of the matter. Childe realizes that he’s been trying to hide something that could never be hidden from someone like Zhongli. It feels like that spear of betrayal again, only more pathetic.
“Ahh. . . you’ve seen it, that form of mine.” Childe has the decency to look a bit embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“I’ve suspected for a while, Aether all but confirmed it.” Zhongli shakes his head a little, “I understand why you’d wish to hide it, but there’s no need. I understand corrupt bargains in all their forms.”
The embarrassment falls off of Childe’s face faster than gravity. “Mr. Zhongli, I’ll have to ask you to not speak of things you don’t know.”
“I am older than the Abyss as you know it, Childe.”
If Zhongli had said it in any other tone of voice, Childe would not have been able to help himself — he would have drawn a dagger right there and tried to slit his throat. Instead of patronizing, a tone Zhongli can have but Childe has rarely heard, it’s simply confidence.
“Mr. Zhongli.” Childe resplies softly. “Your knowledge of the Abyss means nothing to me, do you understand? Simply knowing it isn’t the same as living it.” For a moment they stare at each other. Childe feels the thrum of his unease under his skin. He wants it to rise and come to blows, but Zhongli’s calm gaze back signals that it won’t. It would be easier to fight over it than speak of it.
“You assume to know what I have lived and not lived, Childe.”
“No.”
Childe is the one who looks away first, he looks for his jacket and picks it up, carefully sliding it on. The dried blood makes the fabric stiff but feeling the weight against his shoulders and the trailing ends of it on his hips compensates for the numbness in his back.
“Childe.” Zhongli begins to say something, but Childe interrupts him.
“Zhongli. You’re not often wrong, but when it comes to me, you strike out more than you don’t.”
Zhongli seems stunned by that assessment and his mouth opens and closes twice before he musters a response. “Ah. . . is that so? Even. . .?”
“Were you going to say ‘even before’?” Childe exhales heavily, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, even before. But that was kind of nice — and it’s still mostly nice. Wouldn’t want to spend too much time with someone who’s seen everything.”
“I see.”
“Were you so sure that you were correct?”
“I thought we were in an understanding of each other. And you are so passionately forward, so lacking in deceit.” In a moment, Childe can see when Zhongli’s worked through the real meaning of it all. His lips turn into a small smile. “My understanding of people is flawed, I know. I had thought, perhaps, you had already taught me what I needed to know. In the past, Rex Lapis — I — saw things as one might the seasons. Breaking the year into four parts is quite different from living day to day.”
Childe peels off his gloves, discarding them on the floor and holds his hands up to Zhongli. Scars loop his fingers, cut across his palm and there’s notches missing from three fingers on his right hand, little indents of flesh that never grew back. He rotates his hand so his left palm faces Zhongli, the white line that circles the base of his thumb on display.
“Battle scars.” Childe says in summary, but then he points to the scar around his thumb, “Fishing line. A battle with the biggest fish I’d seen at that age, it sliced right through my thumb and tore it off! Snezhnaya’s so cold they were able to put it back on.”
He offers his hands to Zhongli then, waiting. Zhongli gently takes them, barely touching, and draws a finger across the row of scars on Chide’s knuckles. There’s two sets, one across each knuckle and a set of deep pock marks on either side of his second knuckle.
“Corrected my form against a wall,” Childe says wryly, about the scars on his knuckles, “A viper of sorts. I’m not really sure what kind of snake.” For the other two.
The long scar down the outside edge of his palm, across his wrist and into his forearm: “Sheet of ice, I used my arm to block it, even though I was holding a weapon.”
The missing tip of his fourth finger on his right hand: “Haha. . . I was told it was a hazing ritual, when I found out it wasn’t. . . well, I was a bit embarrassed but I’m not sure either of them can hold a sword anymore.”
Scars from shoving his hand into thorn bushes, from grabbing beasts by the teeth, an odd ring shaped scar from where he found out he has a terrible allergic reaction to being bitten by a certain breed of Snezhnayan spider, knives, swords. Zhongli categorizes each one and at the end, brings Childe’s hand to his lips to gently kiss his palm.
“Ah — “
“I understand.” Zhongli says into his scarred skin. “That does not change the promise I wish for you to make.”
“I can’t — really, I won’t. I have an Archon granted Vision and the Tsaritsa’s blessing for a Delusion, but there’s more in the world that’s going to fight me so I need more power. It may be heretical, but I’ll take everything I need to be the strongest.”
Zhongli starts to say something else but Childe presses his fingers more urgently against the man’s mouth. “I won’t give up power for nothing.”
Zhongli nods, silent for once.
It’s the first time they’ve been intimate since the Osial fiasco and reconciliation. Childe wakes early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon and ignores the urge to bury his face in Zhongli’s bare shoulder or pull a pillow over his face. Despite years of training and a natural instinct to shake off sleep, Childe has never truly escape the brief feeling of just waking that seductively whispers he could return to slumber.
To his surprise, Zhongli shifts, turning on his side so he can face Childe. Sometimes Childe has to wonder if Zhongli sleeps at all, but has also come to realize he doesn’t actually care if the other man does or does not.
“I have considered amending the promise I want you to make.” Zhongli says, voice lacking any amount of grogginess or roughness.
“Huh?” Childe’s own voice is dry with sleep and he clears his throat, “What?”
“I will give you power and in exchange you will promise to not draw on the Abyssal strength you have.” Zhongli’s tone is serious and solemn. It’s completely out of place for the comfortable bed they share, the intimate warmth between them. Childe scrubs at his eyes with a hand, he doesn’t need to but takes the moment to gather his thoughts.
“Early morning contracts, huh?” He teases.
“No, it is as I said. A promise.” Zhongli reiterates.
Don’t throw away any weapon, you never know when you’re going to need it. Childe grimaces as the words float in his mind. It’s ironic in a way, that the Delusion he bears has little to no weight on Zhongli. As though the Tsaritsa was not campaigning to make an enemy of the world. Instead in this quiet moment Zhongli hopes to maneuver fondness against Childe and ask him to replace his trump card with something else.
“You know, gods might use their followers’ status as devotees as a reason to request things from them, but when mortals do it to each other, it’s frowned upon.”
“I am aware.” Zhongli’s lips press into a line before he continues, reaching out to run his fingers through Childe’s hair in slow soothing motions. “I did not mean for it to be a manipulation, but as I have little to offer you besides myself it seemed an appropriate time.”
How funny, Zhongli always knocking the breath from his lungs like this.
“As if an ex-Archon is worth so little.” Childe teases, catching Zhongli’s hand in his own, pulling it from his hair to his mouth so he can kiss it. “I’ve made a lot of bargains for power I don’t fully understand, you know? That was one of them and I don’t have any regrets either.”
“You’re as meticulous as a perfect soldier and as reckless as a rogue,” Zhongli clicks his tongue in admonishment, almost. “I do not wish for you to have regrets either, but . . . perhaps, this is so I can also have a burden lifted from me. Selfish, I know.”
“A burden?”
“You are aware that I care for you.” Zhongli huffs a laugh, “And as you said, what kind of person would I be if I didn’t try to help when you were in trouble?”
“Am I in trouble. . .?” Childe scoffs. “Even the Abyss won’t stop me.”
“. . . since I have become simply ‘Zhongli’, I’ve understood far more about human selfishness. It is not that I think less of you, but rather. . . I wish for these moments to be consistent, to find you well and with me far into the future.”
Childe stills, his grip on Zhongli’s hand tightening in increments. His family have begged him, before, to let go of whatever darkness grabbed him when he was fourteen — they hadn’t understood. They still didn’t, even though he’s be so good at pulling the sheet over the bloodlust that eats him from the inside out. It’s Zhongli who’s seen straight through every contradiction and still reaches for his heart.
His chest hurts with what Childe realizes is the smallest most foreign feeling.
“And so, I ask that you make me that promise.” Zhongli finishes.
Childe shuts his eyes. “You make it sound like a contract, something in exchange for something else. I’ll. . .” He opens his eyes, moving closer so he can cup Zhongli’s cheek instead of his palm. “I promise to love you until I don’t and if I fall out of love to try and reclaim what we have now. I’ve heard relationships are pretty complicated, human hearts can be fickle, you know?”
“I’m aware.” Zhongli replies, voice getting softer. “And . . .?”
“I can’t make a promise like that, but I can give it a try.”
“Then try to face the world with my blessing instead of the Abyss’s curse.” Zhongli’s voice sounds heavy, the words have gravity a man’s shouldn’t. Childe laughs, buoyant against the weight of Zhongli’s offer. When he had grabbed the Abyss’s power of the Foul Legacy with both his hands it had been a mix of entitlement and desperation but accepting Zhongli’s quiet offer is so different.
There’s no ceremony or gut wrenching dark energy. No feeling of his ribs crumbling and the Abyss consuming him. Instead there’s just a soft warmth where Zhongli presses a kiss to Childe’s skin above his heart and then it’s gone.
It feels like a promise.
Childe doesn’t question the thin gold diamond frame that backs his Vision. The next time blood and violence runs through his mind it’s far easier to think of other things — shared meals, shared beds, the feeling of Zhongli’s hand holding his.
And the next time he needs more power he doesn’t reach into the darkness for a clawed hand, but settles a palm against the ground and hears it come to his aid.