Chapter Text
"Where is the fucker?"
Zhongli turns to face the furious voice, gasping out-loud as he sees Beidou darting through the crowds with a pool cue in hand.
Zhongli exclaims nervously, "B-Beidou, what are you -"
"I'm about to show this bitch some real shit." Beidou rolls up the sleeves of her black, party chemise, shoving straight through the crowds and up-front to an unbothered Tartaglia, "Hey, you."
The cool-headed man parts away from his partner, shooting Beidou a bothered look, "What? Don't you see I'm in the middle of something?"
Beidou chuckles, "You'll be in the middle of my fucking FISTS -"
The enraged woman starts smacking Tartaglia with the large, wooden stick in her hand. Eventually, she throws the stick aside, pulling Tartaglia into her fists.
Zhongli gasps, attempting to intervene in-between the fight that ever so suddenly occurred, only for a strong hand to pull him back.
"No, let her." Pantalone grins, "It's what he deserves, and there's more to come."
Zhongli's eyes widen, and he hears a loud bang coming from beside the stairs. He immediately turns towards the stairs once again, his mouth agape as he sees the figure of his good friend walk though the door with a giant encyclopedia in hand.
"Al Haitham? What are you doing here?” Zhongli questions anxiously.
"I hate to use inappropriate language," Al Haitham smiles smugly, "But I can't let this fucker get away with hurting my roommate, can I?"
"But -"
Before Zhongli could even speak, Al Haitham hauls the massive book with perfected aim at Childe's head.
"What the fuck?" Tartaglia shouts in between gasps, "What the actual fuck are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" Al Haitham tilts his head at Tartaglia, "Committing acts of infidelity?"
Multiple gasps and murmurs arise from the crowds around the scene.
Tartaglia's eyes widen, and he looks at the crowds uneasily, "No, listen, I -"
A pool ball shoots straight at Tartaglia's neck from a distance, and he screams out in clear agonization. Everyone turns to look at the direction of the thrown object.
"Hope I'm not late to the party!" Itto chirps, walking through to Zhongli with a pile of pool balls in his arms, "Managed to grab a couple before heading up here!"
Zhongli warily speaks, "Itto, I don't suggest you do this. We can solve this another way."
Itto's face turn stone cold, and he gets slightly closer to Zhongli, his voice a stern whisper, "When you've gotta deal with people like these, there's only one way to handle them."
The brown-haired man narrows his eyes slowly as he watches a sly grin creep up to Itto's mouth.
"You deal with 'em like this."
Itto hurls two pool tables at the Tartaglia, specifically aiming faultlessly at his crotch area. Tartaglia falls to his knees, clutching his legs together. Most of the individuals observing let out spiritually pained gasps, including Zhongli.
"Make way for me!~" A sweet yet eager voice calls out from in between the groups of people standing, and Zhongli almost falls back as an entirely drunk Venti launches himself on top of Tartaglia, pulling his hair in drunken madness, "Diluc! Help me out here!"
Diluc emerges from the bar-stand, a wide alcohol bottle in hand. For a moment, Zhongli shivered in horror as the thought of Diluc smashing the glass bottle over his boyfriend's head appeared to be a very likely possibility, yet he was completely held back by Pantalone. He had no other choice but to watch the mess upon him unfold.
"Look, I'm not one to waste a nice drink or anything.." Diluc trails his fingers along the bottle, "But I can make an excuse this once, right?"
The spectators erupt into encouraging cheers, and Diluc smirks before popping the bottle open, pouring the freezing drink over the fallen man's head after a few individuals grasped Venti off of Childe by ultimate force. Tartaglia's mouth hangs open, and his alcohol-coated body shivers evidently, the red liquid displaying every shade of his humiliation and bitterness.
"I didn't even fucking do anything!" Childe screams, shaking his head as alcohol drips off of his reddened hair, "Why me? What did I ever fucking do? You fucking maniacs!"
Dottore clenches his jaw, stepping forward, only to be held back by Pantalone.
"We're only getting started, my love." Pantalone murmurs into Dottore's ear, his neat lips forming into a smirk, "His delusion has already done its course."
Zhongli presses his fists together; usually, Zhongli would never be the one for sudden outbursts, in fact, he was quite the peace-maker for them.
But this time?
This time, he wanted to set his contaminated rage and fury free, to display the wrath and ache he endured, to let loose the sentiments that were left unsaid and neglected.
"You didn't do anything, Tartaglia?"
Childe looks up at the towering, outraged figure. He wipes the alcohol off of his eyes, a gasp escaping his mouth as he comes to an irritatingly late realization of the situation he had thrown himself into.
"Babe!" Tartaglia coos in a sweet tone, looking around nervously, "I - I thought you left!"
Zhongli frowns, crossing his arms, "You'll be the one leaving after this."
The crowds watching fall into cheers, and a sly grin creeps up to Zhongli's lips. Beidou and Al Haitham turn to stand by his side, and Itto wraps an arm around the brown-haired man, cheering him on.
"Babe, stop this nonsense!" Childe brushes off Zhongli's words awkwardly, his tone displaying nothing but his aggression. He stands up unsteadily, shivering as more, cold alcohol drips down his clothes, "Let's just go home now, okay?", Tartaglia persuades as he walks over to Zhongli. Al Haitham and Itto block the drenched man away from their friend.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Tartaglia shrieks at the two men shielding Zhongli, "What? I can't go home with my boyfriend and call it a night?"
"No, you can't, fucker." Al Haitham snarls, "Drop the act already."
Tartaglia gasps in an offended manner, "Act? He's my boyfriend! Right, babe?"
Zhongli bites his lip; at this very moment, he had to make a decision and speak the words he majorly feared. He couldn't possibly play the fool again after he caught his "boyfriend" red-handed, fully engrossed in the moment.
All of the negligence, the fights, the persuasions, the chances given for redemption.
"It's over."
Everyone turns to look at Zhongli with stunned expressions, some mouths falling open and agape.
"W-What?" The color drains from Childe's face, his confidence dribbling away, similar to the alcohol which drained him, "What do you -"
"You heard me the first time." Zhongli shrugs, his tone growing louder and harsher.
Childe places a hand over his mouth, "But - No! You can't just do this all of a sudden! Y-You -"
"Why can't I?" Zhongli questions in an irritated tone, "Give me one reason not to."
Childe stutters along his words; not a single phrase that came out of his mouth was apprehensive or convincing, and Zhongli was starting to lose his remaining patience.
"If you're struggling to understand what I'm saying, I'll try simplifying my words." Zhongli warns, "I'm breaking up with you. I'm no longer your boyfriend. What else do I need to say for you to understand?"
Childe vigorously shakes his head in denial, "No! You can't just - Zhongli, for fuck's sake!"
Tartaglia leans in to grasp Zhongli's arm, unaware of the once contained fury that resided in the man's body. Zhongli pushes Tartaglia away, leaving the man to stumble and collapse back into the puddle of alcohol and shame he crafted for himself.
He was sick of the out-lashes and plain manipulation. He was sick of the repeated apologies and the unreasonable excuses. He was sick of the unexplained nights where he would come knocking on his door, drunk and "sorry". And maybe a late realization washed upon Zhongli, that Tartaglia was never sorry, that it was all an obvious cover up for the things he'd commit and leave unsaid.
"But - I can explain! It's just a fling, really!"
Itto face-palms loudly, and Beidou and Al Haitham crack their knuckles.
Zhongli rolls his eyes, "Are you really still trying?"
"Babe, you know I didn't mean it!" Childe chuckles awkwardly, "I only -"
"Babe?"
Chidle's body freezes as he catches sight of a familiar woman.
"What do you mean by babe?" Lumine gasps, dropping the two drinks in her hands, "I thought you said we were dating!"
"L-Lumine, baby! I meant you, I really did!"
A small grin escapes Zhongli's mouth, and he starts to walk away from the quarreling pair. He catches sight of Al Haitham grabbing a nearby glow-stick, along with Beidou rummaging through her purse, probably in search of any weapons.
"There won't be any need to deal with him any longer." Zhongli explains, taking his friends by the shoulder, "I know he'll be spending the rest of the night begging her to believe him. Nothing new."
"I will punch him, even if I don't do it now." Beidou shrugs.
"At least he won't show up at our dorm again." Al Haitham snarls, "It reeked of alcohol just by the sight of him."
Zhongli giggles, "I can assure you that won't be happening again."
"Zhongli!"
The three friends turn to see Pantalone and Dottore approaching, huge grins plastered on their faces.
"I must admit, I've never observed an on-going murder with no blood." Pantalone chuckles.
Zhongli smirks, "I did what I had to do."
"It was truly remarkable. I would definitely pay to see the look on his face again." Dottore laughs.
"Yeah! You should have seen him after Al Haitham threw that book at him!" Beidou cackles, "Speaking of Al Haitham, where is he?"
The group looks around, and Zhongli begins to feel an uneasy feeling rise to his stomach.
"Oh, fuck." Zhongli mutters, placing a hand on his forehead, "I just know that he went back there."
A few minutes pass by, and Al Haitham re-approaches the four beings, smirking victoriously.
"What were you doing?" Zhongli asks sternly, "And - What's wrong with your arm?"
Al Haitham shakes his right arm around, "I had to go in for a strike, but I didn't imagine the alcohol would be that sticky. It was worth it, though."
"Al Haitham!"