aberrant, weapon, home

by a_seagulls_hubris for shyacinth

Rating: Teen, M/M, Complete Work

Published 21 September 2024


Summary:

‘The rot eats at your mind,’ says Zhongli. ‘Otherwise, you would not have left so much evidence for me to find. What else are you willing to give up? Your memories? Your sentience? You may be a creature of the night, but you are no mindless beast.’

It’s a gamble, and a risky one at that. Childe scratches at the red spots on his hands.

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

Zhongli tenses up when he approaches.

‘Mind or no mind, I serve the same purpose. Corrosion hardly made my hunger worse. I’m sure you’re experienced, sir, but me?’ He gestures to himself. ‘If you truly want to protect your people, you’ll kill me where I stand.’

~~~

As an exorcist and hunter, Zhongli is duty-bound to relieve vampires of Corrosion, a disease that slowly eats away at their minds and bodies. To most, his assistance is an easily accepted relief, but not every vampire wishes to recover so easily. These, he is supposed to kill for the safety of the public, but his resolve is tested when Childe, a vampire and weapon abandoned by the Fatui, is set loose in Liyue Harbour.


Tags:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact), Zhongli (Genshin Impact), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact), Vampire Hunter Zhongli (Genshin Impact), Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Suicidal Thoughts, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, is this a mental health metaphor? perhaps, Unresolved Sexual Tension


Beginning Notes:

For shyacinth.

Written for Zhongchili Gotcha for Gaza. Go show some support if you can!

First time writing anything related to vampirism haha (my only experience with the subject are the Twilight movies and to some extent Bloodborne). I hope I did this concept justice


 

Zhongli excuses himself for a walk at seven, as usual. Hu Tao lets him go, not a single hint of mischief on her face, no begging for him to stay one more hour. He doubts that she knows every single detail of his second line of work, but she is surely observant enough to notice that the cane he brings with him is not merely for mobility.

After all, he is perfectly capable of walking on his own.

The corpse in the mortuary lies with puncture wounds in its neck, a disturbing resurgence. The high concentration of exorcists and hunters in Liyue Harbour generally keeps creatures of the night away. But some are brave enough to infiltrate human society anyway, in an attempt to sate their thirst.

Wretched creatures. No choice other than blood, no existence other than that of inflicting pain. Death is out of the question as well, their hunger only serving to corrode the mind rather than outright kill.

The corpse’s ribcage was torn completely open.

His target must be starving, and he is counting on that. One body is hardly enough to sate a vampire in the later stages of Corrosion; for only Corrosion could drive one to such a messy, unsubtle kill.

Zhongli’s cane taps on the stone streets, the only sound in the night. Liyue’s vibrant nightlife hides away these days, in fear of the newest arrival. The corpse in Hu Tao’s care is the only one that has most of its parts: of the two previous victims, only a severed head and a fragment of the tibia were retrieved.

He continues walking, reminding himself to look up intermittently. They are fond of taking the high ground, thinking themselves invincible amongst the safety of the eaves. The lily ponds, lovely in the faint moonlight, he takes care to avoid. To engage anyone in combat near them would surely stain that mirror-like water with red.

Liyue Harbour without its people becomes almost like a ghost town. Zhongli stops before a familiar building: Wanmin Restaurant, in his opinion the best restaurant in the vicinity. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear the cheerful clinking of crockery, the smell of cooking garlic, the rapid-fire orders fired towards Xiangling, the daughter of Chef Mao. They would sometimes work late, allowing him to grab a snack on his way home, enjoying every bite as he weaves through the harbour, relishing in its life and its people.

He goes straight for the docks. Now, during high tide, most of his targets use the sound of crashing waves to mask their footsteps, thinking that this will lend them a chance of escape. This is another thing he banks on: after all, there are some things that can never be hidden.

Vibrations, travelling up his cane, bringing life to his cold-deadened fingers.

There.

He gives them a head start, letting them think they have a chance, then takes off.

This vampire continues to run on the docks, perhaps hoping that no one would bother checking near running water. Zhongli treads carefully, avoiding the wooden docks, looping around the few houses close to the water. He crouches behind one of them, making sure to breathe slowly, just enough to escape their sharpened senses. He times himself, resting a finger on a trigger on his cane.

A dark, tall shadow darts out in front of him.

The next few moments happen slowly. His cane fragments, unfurling like a whip, its silver-lined teeth shining in the moonlight. The vampire leaps backwards, a remarkably fast reaction, but Zhongli is moving again, snapping his whip backwards, transforming it back into a cane. The vampire snarls, holding a hand to his face; Zhongli’s cane has managed to graze his skin.

That is more than enough. Zhongli stands up straight, cane held at his side. The vampire’s blood sizzles on his weapon.

‘My apologies,’ says Zhongli. ‘I would have liked this to end differently.’

Snarling, the vampire pounces.

Zhongli dodges the first flurry of claws, bringing up his cane to block the last swipe. The vampire grabs the cane, and in the faint light, Zhongli sees the bone-white of his teeth, the red eyes of one afflicted with Corrosion.

Poor thing. Zhongli transforms his cane again, and the vampire hisses as the silver blades slide out, cutting into his hands, and before he can react, Zhongli whips the weapon out of his hands. The vampire screams, and that gives Zhongli enough time to reach forward, grabbing those bloodied hands and winding his whip around those arms.

The vampire collapses to the ground, groaning, wincing from the pain of his wounds. Zhongli gets a good look at him: red hair, clearly a foreigner. His eyes are glazed over from hunger, and his clothes, though fine, are crusted with dried blood. A mask is worn on the side of his head, and Zhongli recognises the design, the cruel curve of the face’s mouth.

Of course, the Fatui would resort to making a tool of this creature’s bloodlust.

The vampire doesn’t struggle. His gaze is turned to the moon, his lips moving wordlessly. A prayer, or a plea for mercy? Zhongli undoes the buttons of his sleeve, rolling it down. His skin erupts in gooseflesh when it meets the cool night air. The vampire’s attention turns immediately, a hint of lucidity in those blood-tainted eyes.

Zhongli holds his arm to the vampire’s mouth.

The initial bite is weak, and so Zhongli angles his arm to allow the vampire better access. Zhongli hears the soft moan when a tongue runs over the puncture wounds, coaxing out warm blood that is quickly lapped up.

The red fades from the vampire’s eyes as he drinks. He strains against his bonds, wanting to sink the rest of his teeth into Zhongli’s arm, to rip off the skin that becomes an obstacle in his state of mind. Zhongli intervenes when he lunges, closing his hand around coppery locks and dragging the vampire away from his arm.

‘Behave,’ says Zhongli. The vampire falls back, limp, but strong enough to speak.

‘You should have killed me.’

Zhongli reaches for his whip, coiled around the vampire’s arms.

‘What is your name?’

‘I’m—’ He groans when Zhongli begins to unravel the silver blades, tugging their cruel teeth out of his flesh. ‘You can call me Childe.’

‘Childe. Are you able to stand?’

‘Only if you get—ow.’

Childe doesn’t attack immediately, which makes Zhongli’s job easier. He lets Childe clamber unsteadily to his feet, flexing his cut arms. He’ll recover in time, with enough blood.

‘I have a contract for you, Childe.’

‘Ha! Some of my secrets are more valuable than my life.’

He sways where he stands, arms outstretched as if to balance himself. He’s shaking; Corrosion still runs in his blood, unlikely to be purged by a single feeding.

‘Your blood,’ says Childe. ‘It tastes different. What are you?’

‘I have a contract for you.’ Zhongli straightens his cane with a flick of his wrist. ‘I will cure you of this disease, and you will henceforth and forevermore leave this harbour behind.’

Childe stops, arms still outstretched. Zhongli catches sight of red, flaky textures on his hands, slowly extending up his arms.

‘That is all I ask of you,’ he adds.

Childe tilts his head, confused.

‘What’s the catch?’

‘None. I have laid out my terms clearly enough.’

‘What if I refuse?’

Zhongli lifts his cane off the ground. Childe narrows his eyes and takes a step back.

‘The rot eats at your mind,’ says Zhongli. ‘Otherwise, you would not have left so much evidence for me to find. What else are you willing to give up? Your memories? Your sentience? You may be a creature of the night, but you are no mindless beast.’

It’s a gamble, and a risky one at that. Childe scratches at the red spots on his hands.

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’

Zhongli tenses up when he approaches.

‘Mind or no mind, I serve the same purpose. Corrosion hardly made my hunger worse. I’m sure you’re experienced, sir, but me?’ He gestures to himself. ‘If you truly want to protect your people, you’ll kill me where I stand.’

There’s more to this. Zhongli relaxes his grip on his cane. It works, and Childe’s shoulders visibly lose their tension.

‘I do not wish to resort to euthanasia.’

Childe pauses. Scratches at his hands again. ‘You’re a strange fellow.’

‘You can call me Zhongli, consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You may seek me out any time.’

He turns on his heel and leaves.

Behind him, he can hear Childe shuffling his feet, a surprisingly fitting gesture for his apparent age. Tap, tap, he feels through his cane, and he knows that Childe has thrown himself over the docks, to hide in the lower levels of the harbour, where shadows outnumber the sun.

Hook, line, and sinker. He’ll be back, that strange, lonely creature. Give them an olive branch, and they’ll hang onto it like they’re drowning.

Zhongli skirts around the lily ponds on his way home, as always.

 

~~~

 

There is a knock on his window.

He sets down his brush, making sure it is securely in place before standing up. He had to push aside his curtains first, and outside, perched on the windowsill, is a familiar someone.

The streetlights are mysteriously off; Childe’s doing, for sure. Zhongli swiftly unlocks his window, letting Childe tumble in, blinking in the bright lights of his study, arms braced against the floor of his study.

Zhongli bends down. Childe is opening and closing his mouth in a mockery of catching his non-existent breath, his whole body shaking. The red is creeping back into his eyes, straying at the edges of his irises. Zhongli jerks backwards when Childe growls, jaws snapping shut before he catches himself.

Childe holds up his arms. ‘Help me.’

The red flakes on his hands are peeling off. On his left hand, they take his skin with them, hanging around his wrists like a macabre scarf. He does not have any blood to lose, but the exposed red of his nail beds makes Zhongli’s stomach turn.

‘Stay here.’

His primary medical kit is in his cupboard, tucked away and out of sight. The silver in his instruments, consecrated at that, would be too tempting for most house invaders, as unlikely that scenario is. Zhongli retrieves the box and returns to Childe’s side, keeping a safe distance. Childe notices, reaching out his red, raw hands for Zhongli to treat.

There is a container of water in the box. Zhongli dips the bandages into it, relishing in the coolness, before quickly wrapping them around Childe’s hand. Childe hisses in pain but holds still as Zhongli secures the wrappings, protecting raw skin from the elements.

‘There,’ says Zhongli, tucking in a loose end.

Childe flexes his fingers, grimacing at the reduced mobility. ‘Holy water?’

‘Yes. This kind of decay is atypical of Corrosion. Forgive me for risking your safety—I had to try.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ says Childe. ‘I think I’m probably the only person who has to deal with this.’

And that should be true. Zhongli has encountered enough cases of Corrosion to know the details of the disease through and through: at most, the madness it brings necessitates a quick mercy kill, before the hunger turns them into husks of themselves. He had never seen it manifest as this slow, creeping rot.

‘If you don’t mind,’ says Childe, stopping Zhongli’s reverie. ‘I know I just fed a week ago, but…’

Zhongli loosens his tie. ‘Sure. Help yourself.’

Childe’s mouth falls open. ‘Can I—can I really—’

Zhongli unbuttons the first button on his shirt. Childe averts his eyes, murmuring something inaudible under his breath before approaching.

‘My apologies,’ says Childe, cupping his hands behind Zhongli’s head.

It has been some time since he has allowed this; rarely has a vampire’s hunger ever necessitated this amount of blood. They are efficient creatures: after all, to kill humans outright would be reducing your primary source of food. Childe’s teeth sink into his skin, reaching the vein. He feels a tentative lick against his wounds, before Childe gives in and gently clamps his mouth over the spot.

Childe straddles Zhongli’s waist for better support, his weight pressing Zhongli backwards and onto the floor. Zhongli, in turn, settles his hands against Childe’s back, feeling the coldness that almost emanates from his skin.

And then it all stops. Childe pulls himself off, lips dyed red. Zhongli notes that he avoids eye contact when he gets off the floor as well.

‘Is your mind clearer now?’

‘I…yeah. Thanks. I’ll be going—’

‘Wait. I have a question for you.’

Childe freezes where he stands. The red in his eyes is faded, bringing out their natural deep blue. Zhongli fights against the nausea of blood loss, propping himself up with his elbow.

‘Were you perhaps turned in the abyss?’

‘That obvious, huh?’

A confirmation, then. ‘I had heard rumours,’ says Zhongli. ‘But this persistent rot is unmistakable.’

‘If you’re just going to gawk at me, you might as well say it out loud.’

‘Believe me, my concern arises from my desire to help.’

Childe snorts. ‘Do you say that to every poor bastard that you cut open?’

‘My method of treatment does not involve something that invasive.’

‘You should stop trying.’ Childe heads towards the open window, the fluttering curtains whipping around his tall form. ‘I’ve said it before. I will struggle against this hunger for the rest of my life. I see no reason to involve yet another person in it.’

‘Do the Fatui let you hunt?’ Zhongli stands up shakily. His blood pounds in his ears. ‘Do they tolerate your blasphemy of blood?’

‘If that is what you are insinuating,’ says Childe. ‘Yes. Yes, they do. The Tsaritsa knows the truth of our nature, and she revels in it. Allows us to revel in it, far away from the concerns of regular people.’

Zhongli doesn’t imagine the bitterness in his voice.

Childe hauls himself onto the windowsill without a second word.

‘One last thing,’ says Zhongli. He sees Childe’s shoulders slump in a sigh. ‘If your hunger ever grips you again, I am always home at night.’

‘Why would I go back to you?’

The waver in the last word makes Zhongli smile. Oh, he can try to sate his hunger any other way. But there will never be anything better.

Nothing better than the blood of an immortal.

Childe mutters something to himself again and launches himself out the window.

 

~~~

 

‘You bastard.’

Clawed hands wrap around his throat.

‘Hmm?’

‘You knew what you were doing, giving me your blood. Nothing satisfies me anymore.’

‘It was not supposed to have that effect,’ says Zhongli. Childe’s hands squeeze briefly, the red in his eyes more pronounced than ever. ‘But you, I suppose, are a special case.’

For a moment, Zhongli wonders if Childe will rip his throat open, silence him permanently for that comment. But instead Childe bends down, fangs bared, pressing Zhongli into his couch.

‘I won’t take too much,’ says Childe before he bites down.

‘You’re still here,’ says Zhongli as Childe laps at the wounds. ‘Still not done with Fatui business?’

‘Nah, I’m done. They just needed those three guys out of the way.’ A sting in the side of his neck, and Childe brushes Zhongli’s hair out of the way. ‘I don’t have anywhere else to go.’

‘Show me your hand when you’re done,’ says Zhongli, tilting his head to allow better access. Childe hums in agreement.

This feeding is swift, and Zhongli allows the wounds in his neck to heal. Childe extends his hands, letting Zhongli unravel the bandages.

‘You recover remarkably fast.’ His nails have grown back, and soft skin has replaced the flaky red of his old injuries. Childe flexes his hands.

‘Do you have a family?’

Zhongli blinks, unsure if he’s heard the question correctly. ‘…No.’

‘A pity. You’d make a good father.’

Zhongli sits up straight on the couch. The beginnings of dawn sunlight are starting to creep into his living room, seeking out the small slit between his curtains. He moves to close them.

‘You may stay here if you wish,’ says Zhongli. ‘You said you didn’t have anywhere else to go, and it is now daytime.’

‘I don’t need to owe you another debt. I’ll go.’

But he makes no move to rise from the couch, instead sitting cross-legged, looking around curiously.

‘I’d expected more silver in your house,’ says Childe. ‘You know, in case any guests tried to take more than they needed from you.’

Zhongli hums. ‘They would be welcome to try. Besides, you are the only one who has ever returned for more.’

He doesn’t miss Childe’s sharp inhale.

Zhongli gets off the couch, heading for the kitchen, more out of habit than anything. His fridge is completely empty, and he will need to leave the house for a proper meal. Childe watches him walk around aimlessly, swinging his legs.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask.’ Zhongli closes the fridge door and turns to face Childe, who moves to avoid the thin strip of sunlight cast across the living room. Red still tinges his eyes, but the lucidity in them is unmistakable. ‘What exactly are you?’

‘I am sure you already have an answer.’ Zhongli gestures to his neck. ‘Every bit of information you need can be gleaned from my blood.’

‘Ah. So no parents.’

‘You seem strangely insistent on talking about my family.’ Childe shuffles his feet uncomfortably. ‘Is there anything you wish to talk about?’

Childe remains silent.

‘I’ll be leaving for work then. Feel free to take a nap on the couch, but do make sure to take off your shoes.’

He heads towards the door.

‘You should know,’ says Zhongli, picking up the briefcase by the front door. ‘That my windows are always open at night. Farewell.’

He steps through the doorway, leaving Childe in the darkened living room.

 

~~~

 

Childe is gone by the time he returns home. The other thing Zhongli notices are the paintings on the wall, ink-painted paper scrolls, cleared of the dust that he had been meaning to clean. Looking around, the windows have been wiped, and the tables almost gleam.

He feels himself smile.

In the study, which shares the cleanliness of the rest of the apartment now, something is placed atop his paperweight. He unpackages the small paper bundle, making sure not to tear the paper too much. This turns out to be a good call, as the text, scrawled in a small, neat hand on it comes away mostly intact.

Dear Mr. Zhongli, it reads, forgive me for my intrusion, but I couldn’t help noticing the collection of various minerals on the top rows of your bookshelves. Please take this sample I had on me, as I do not think you have one of these yet.

We will meet again soon.

The mineral rolls into the palm of his hand. He knows immediately what this is: feldspar, one of the most common minerals in the land. Exciting to find as an amateur collector, not so much as someone already with more than twenty samples of it. He sets it on his bookshelf anyway, standing on his toes to reach one of the higher shelves, placing the small, irregular rock in the middle of a sizable clearing.

After all, it would be a pity to lose track of this one.

 

~~~

 

‘Can I have a bite?’

‘Not a chance.’

Zhongli tears the body bag from the body on his kitchen floor and puts it aside. Apart from the ring of bloody indents around the dead vampire’s neck, it is relatively intact. Childe perches on Zhongli’s kitchen table, watching him scatter a handful of salt over the body.

‘I’d get rid of it faster than cremation,’ says Childe.

‘This one was in the later stages of Corrosion, far beyond reason. A hotbed of disease.’

‘Come on, it could hardly make me worse.’

He waves his hands, covered once more in flaky red. The red in his eyes, now ever-present, has subsided slightly after a vial of Zhongli’s blood, but his hands still tremble, a tell-tale sign of the disease.

Zhongli meets his eyes firmly. ‘No.’

Childe shrugs.

The next hour is spent with Childe watching Zhongli work quietly, sketching a glyph around the body. Silver incense burners are placed at certain points of the glyph. When each of the burners is lit, Childe shuffles out of the way of the smoke, rubbing his nose.

‘This is an irritant to your kind,’ says Zhongli as Childe finally hops off the kitchen table to perch on the couch instead. ‘Forgive me for not warning you sooner.’

Zhongli stands up, dusting off his coat. The body on his floor is dressed in nothing more than rags, flaky red patches dotting its exposed skin, clumps of hair falling out. He says a silent prayer to whichever gods are listening before extending a hand.

In a puff of smoke, the body disintegrates into ashes. He sweeps them up into a waiting dustpan, makes sure to tip every last bit of the ash into a paper bag, and then seals it. He will dispose of it tomorrow, on ground more hallowed than his dwelling.

‘That’s very clean,’ says Childe, crossing his legs as he watches Zhongli carefully tuck the paper bag into his briefcase. ‘You do the same thing for every one you kill, right?’

Zhongli nods.

‘I guess my only request is that you scatter mine in the ocean. The earth is disagreeable to me.’

Zhongli looks at him, sprawled out on the couch and staring at the ceiling, fighting back an exasperated sigh. ‘I’m not going to kill you.’

‘You’re the only one who can. It’s safer for everyone that way.’

‘Why do you insist on dying?’

‘You make it sound like I’m suicidal.’ Childe doesn’t meet his eyes, choosing to twiddle his thumbs instead. ‘I never had long to live anyway, not since the abyss. This hunger is not sustainable.’

‘Still,’ says Childe, ‘I’m not sure what I’d say to my siblings. Maybe you could come up with something.’

‘Tell me about them,’ says Zhongli, seizing the opportunity. ‘Your family.’

‘Haven’t talked to them in some time,’ says Childe. ‘Though I did use to write to my sister Tonia. There’s just not much to talk about when you go about at night only meeting people if you need to kill them.’

He sneaks a glance at Zhongli before quickly looking away.

‘I swore I’d protect her. Ah, how naive of me. And my brother… I had two, I think. One of them was called… Anton? I don’t remember very well now.’

Zhongli ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach.

‘And my parents, they’re lovely people, really. They knew about my condition, sent me away to the Fatui to let them take care of it. My last breakfast at home was… something sweet. I think she was trying to say sorry. It didn’t matter though, I couldn’t taste much.’

‘Father was right about me,’ says Childe. His hands are still, and he closes his eyes as if to focus. ‘Staying away benefits all of us.’

Zhongli allows him to rest, or to enter an approximation of it. He still tries to breathe even though the action is wholly unnecessary, hands clasped, the furrow between his brow deepening.

‘I am going to bed,’ says Zhongli. ‘You can stay here, if you like.’

Childe waves a hand in an attempt at nonchalance. ‘I’ll be gone in the morning.’

‘Another thing. If you do not mind, I will take care of your siblings for you.’

‘Mmm-hmm.’

‘I will need their names.’

‘Morepesok, house among the pines. You’ll know it when you see it. Tell them I died from… an infection, or something.’

‘I do not wish to witness your demise.’

‘Too bad. You can’t help me.’ His expression softens and he cracks open an eye, red eclipsing his deep blue. ‘I know you’re trying to save me. But it’s been like this for me ever since the abyss. Even without Corrosion, it’s just a matter of time before my hunger gets to me. Just… forget about me.’

He rolls over and curls up. Zhongli sighs and switches off the lights, heading towards his bedroom.

He should move that chunk of feldspar onto his bedside table.

 

~~~

 

Childe doesn’t show up at all the next week.

At first, Zhongli had thought it a good sign. His hunger had surely abated if he wasn’t actively feeding, whatever meagre remnants of divinity in Zhongli’s blood managing to take effect even without Childe’s express consent.

But he doesn’t show up the next week either, and Zhongli begins to worry.

His mind jumps to the worst case scenario: Childe has surely succumbed to the disease, and is lying in a ditch somewhere, undead body rotting. But a scion of the abyss is surely stronger than that: if his mind had truly been taken, Zhongli would surely hear of more torn-apart corpses being found in dark alleyways.

The uncertainty doesn’t suit him.

He continues his walks, finding less experienced hunters, offering them the same deal: accept treatment and leave, or die. Figurative ink on paper; a simple enough binary choice.

He doesn’t let them drink out of his arm or any other part of his body, opting instead to use vials. Fangs on his skin, formerly such an impersonal act, now feels far too intimate for total strangers, even for a noble cause.

But then, Childe had been a stranger once.

The moon wanes, then waxes again. His windows stay open.

His skin itches sometimes, a thirst that he can attempt to sate by digging in his fingernails in a pale imitation of fangs. Never sharp enough, but he knows his limits, and he knows to dissect his feelings.

Of course, he misses Childe.

 

~~~

 

His house is completely ransacked when he comes home one night. What little hope he feels at the sight is quickly vanquished at the sight of the body curled up under his kitchen table, one of its bloodied hands twitching.

‘Childe,’ Zhongli calls out.

A growl emanates from the body, guttural and dry. With unnatural flexibility, Childe flips himself onto his stomach and climbs to his feet, his bones cracking. Shreds of skin hang off his arms, and the red scales have already begun to crawl up his neck.

Zhongli drops his briefcase and tightens his grip on his cane.

Childe is hunched over, one hand braced against the floor, as if the very act of standing is causing him pain. His eyes are entirely red, flat circles that stare unblinkingly at Zhongli.

‘Will you allow me to grant you peace?’ says Zhongli, though the words ring hollow. There is no saving him, not now. If he had been more forceful, more convincing—

Snarling, Childe pounces.

The first swing of his cane misses: unfurling it in such a small space would do more harm than good, but it costs him the well-desired range. Childe leaps backwards, more nimble than on the night of their first confrontation.

They circle each other for a while, Zhongli carefully avoiding entering further into the house. Cornering himself against an opponent this aggressive would guarantee a loss.

Opponent.

He would have liked something more personal.

Childe swipes with his claws, one of them grazing Zhongli’s hair as he blocks the blow. Teeth gritted, finger on the trigger, Zhongli makes to break apart his cane, but Childe has learned. He releases his grip, choosing to attack again, backing Zhongli into a corner.

Childe seems to see it too, lips curled into an almost triumphant smile when he rushes in, thinking he’s won. Zhongli only has a split second to react, and he does, placing his cane against his palm.

‘My apologies,’ he says. For you will leave no body to bury.

The cane swings forward, sharp edge cutting true. The spray of blood, a fragment of divinity, splashes across Childe’s face. The vampire screams and claws at his skin, peeling off more of the rotted sections.

Divinity accepted would ease his pain, but his mind is too far gone for that. Zhongli watches, bloodied weapon extended as Childe drops to the floor, shaking, his screams dying out as divine blood enters his veins.

Zhongli sets down his cane, hoping the contact with the ground will stop his trembling hands.

This is not his first kill, and it will not be his last. But they had never been personal.

Childe’s body twitches one last time, then goes still.

Zhongli forces himself to step forward, to make sure his job is done, but his knees give out halfway. Before he knows it he is kneeling, hands trembling with a gentleness they have not known in the presence of a vampire as they brush aside Childe’s ginger locks, to reveal what remains of his face.

‘Perhaps you were right.’ He can barely hear himself speak. ‘I cannot save you. But I should have followed you that night, offered you what little comfort I could in your final moments.’

‘That is no fault of yours.’ He tucks a strand of hair, so soft in his hands, behind Childe’s ear. ‘You deserve a softer death.’

‘I will take care of your family.’

The lump in his throat is making it hard to talk. Ironic, that he works at a funeral parlour. Death never gets easier, it seems, no matter how many times he’s seen it.

He turns away before wiping at his eyes, as if afraid a corpse might see him.

Long dead, long doomed, but too close to salvation.

‘Wait.’

The voice is soft and raspy, but unmistakable. Zhongli doesn’t turn around, instead relying on what little information he can glean from his ears. A groan, then a rattling attempt at drawing breath.

‘Help… me.’

Zhongli turns. Childe’s eyes are open, still the same shade of scarlet, but one of his hands is outstretched. He grits his teeth as Zhongli’s blood leaves trails across his face, unnaturally bright paths in the dusk. Zhongli reaches out to wipe the blood off, but pauses at the sight of his bloodied palm.

But he asked for help.

Zhongli squeezes his palm, forcing out more blood. Communion, a bridge between the wretched and the divine. Freely given, readily accepted.

Childe looks at him, then nods.

And so Zhongli presses his hand on Childe’s neck, skin peeling off, his flesh exposed.

‘Forgive me,’ says Zhongli. ‘This will hurt.’

Childe closes his eyes, but his smile is as brilliant as the moon.

 

~~~

 

‘I have been meaning to ask. What made you finally accept my help?’

They are resting on the couch, Zhongli’s head in Childe’s lap as the vampire licks the last of the blood from his fingers. Bandages cover almost every inch of exposed skin, to be changed twice a day, but earlier today the ones on his hands were taken off to reveal raw, but healed, skin.

The curtains are drawn to keep out the sunlight: Childe had decided that visiting in the mornings would take far less time out of his otherwise busy schedule.

He had not hinted at what said schedule might include, but Zhongli had caught him looking up nautical routes back to Snezhnaya in the study. Zhongli hadn’t had the heart to tell him that the information there was likely centuries out of date.

He would tell eventually, however.

Childe hums. ‘You seemed so upset.’

‘You…’ Childe runs a hand through Zhongli’s hair, pausing at the base of his skull to take out the hair tie. Zhongli continues, ‘You gave up your wish to die because of me?’

‘I’d appreciate not likening my stunt to a suicide attempt. I simply lack the intent.’

Regardless, Zhongli catches sight of a small, triumphant smile curling his lips.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ says Childe, fiddling with the ends of Zhongli’s hair. ‘If I wanted to leave Liyue…’

‘The books on trade routes in my study are centuries out of date.’

‘So you were watching. Never mind.’ Childe yawns, a surprisingly human action. ‘I think I need to sleep again… so much energy loss for doing nothing.’

‘Recovery is far from “doing nothing”.’

‘That’s nice of you. Anyway, want to come with me?’

Zhongli tries to sit up, hissing when Childe’s fingers tug on his hair. Childe lets it go with an apologetic gesture. ‘Sorry. I was thinking… my parents would probably feel better if they knew you were looking after me.’

‘Is that all our relationship is, hm?’

Childe chuckles, a full-bodied sound, before reaching for Zhongli’s hand. Twining their fingers together, he leans in closer, until his lips almost touch Zhongli’s forehead.

‘Maybe we could be more than that.’ A kiss, so quick Zhongli doesn’t even have time to react to this almost scandalous form of contact. Childe seems to have noticed, that self-assured smile back on his face.

The second kiss is slower, so that Zhongli can feel blood rush to his cheeks, painting them an embarrassing shade of red when Childe pulls away.

‘But you’ll never find out if you don’t come with me,’ says Childe, voice low.

He squeezes their intertwined fingers, and Zhongli can only say yes.

 

 


End Notes:

if you saw this fic repeat. no you didn't. i totally did not delete a whole second copy of the text from this fic (thanks to the commenter who pointed it out!)

 


 

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