The next morning is noticeably awkward.
Childe jumps from his bunk late in the morning, stretching and rolling out his shoulders with a yawn. He looks at Zhongli and with a teasing wink, says, "Mornin' roomie."
Zhongli combusts. He feels his cheeks burn as the night before comes rushing back to him, and he has to pass off his choked breath as a cough. "I'm—Good morning, Childe."
Childe watches him for a moment, his head cocked to the side. "You okay? Your face is a little red—"
"I'm quite alright," cuts in Zhongli, turning away before he puts his foot in his mouth. "It was a long night." Childe pauses then, looking a little fearful, which only makes it worse. "That is to say, I was struggling with my latest paper. It's… the subject matter is distracting."
"Distracting?"
"Poor phrasing. I'm distracted, which in turn—" Zhongli pauses, rubbing at his forehead. There is already a headache brewing. "Look, Childe, it comes down to the fact that I have a lot of work ahead of me."
Childe rolls his eyes as he turns away to their small kitchenette. "No need to remind me, Mr. Doctoral Candidate." He air quotes the title and the sarcasm isn't lost.
"Don't be childish," says Zhongli with a frown. Really, this— Child? Boy? He isn't much younger.
"Look, if I was too loud coming—"
"You weren't."
Childe nearly drops the bread that he's holding. "I… uh…"
"When you came in last night," amends Zhongli with a wince. "You were… quiet enough."
Archons above, this is a nightmare.
Childe gives him the strangest look that makes Zhongli's skin prickle. The night before when he was—Zhongli swallows—you know… It must've been a joke. Childe must've figured out that he was awake and used the moment to tease him. It's certainly easier to believe than the idea that Childe genuinely likes him back.
Or jerks off to him.
Zhongli swears he's about to age another decade.
"Zhongli?"
"Sorry, I'm just—thinking."
"About your paper?"
That would be easier to explain than how he was weighing the possibility of Childe masturbating to the thought of him. "Yes," he finally says. Childe reaches over and flicks his fingers against Zhongli's forehead, causing him to let out an offended, "Hey."
"Since when do you worry about schoolwork?" Zhongli blinks back at him dumbly. Childe turns away and pulls his toast from the toaster. "You aren't like me, you know? You've got the University stuff in the bag. And yeah, whatever you're studying goes right over my head, but not yours."
Zhongli has never known that Childe watches him that closely. They chat from time to time, but they can barely be called friends. "Childe, it isn't anything like that."
"Then what is it?" Childe looks at him earnestly when he asks, as though he's actually concerned.
Zhongli should ask him about it. He's burning to know, the question sitting on the tip of his tongue. But he also already knows the answer, and if Zhongli just plainly asks, Childe will just brush it off with a laugh.
"Oh, that? You took it seriously? Come on Zhongli, who do you think I am?"
Someone far cooler than himself, that's for sure. Zhongli is nothing but a doctoral candidate whose best friends are rocks. He swallows the question down, unwilling to make an utter fool of himself.
"Perhaps you are right." He sighs, curling his fingers around his morning cup of tea. "I'm very stressed and it might be getting to me."
Childe waves a piece of toast at him before taking a huge bite. "You know what you need?" he asks around a mouthful, "You need to get laid."
Zhongli chokes on his tea.
"Trust me, my dude. Works like a charm."
Yes, well, Childe would know, wouldn't he?
#
"So let me get this straight—"
"Please do not repeat it."
"Your roommate came home."
A pause. "That would be Childe."
Another pause. "I know the idiot's name—"
"Xiao."
Zhongli shares a morning muffin twice a week with his old friend, and so far this morning has gone swimmingly well (not).
Xiao snorts. "He came home late, like he often does, only when he got into the bunk he decided to—"
Zhongli groans, thunking his head against the cafe table. Xiao leans to the side to give him an unimpressed look. "Zhongli, this is ridiculous. Surely this isn't the first time that he's jerked himself off."
"Yes, well, he doesn't usually do so with me there, or while moaning my name." The resulting look on Xiao's face is almost worth the embarrassment. Almost.
"Wait, wait, wait—"
"I had to have been a joke," cuts in Zhongli, lifting his face from the sticky table. "I mean… It had to have been, right?"
Xiao blinks back at him, absolutely appalled. Zhongli doesn't know whether or not to be insulted by that. "You realize that you sound like a grade schooler, right? Zhongli, you're nearly thirty. Actually, you know what? Why do you even have a roommate? You had your own place!"
"Would you believe me if I said I prefer this arrangement to living above the funeral parlor?"
"No," says Xiao, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. "Is this about that pathetic crush that you have on him?"
"It's not…I don't—" But he stops himself dead because Zhongli doesn't like to lie. Instead, he groans, rubbing at his face.
"See? That's what I mean when I say this is grade school shit. Zhongli, you're here to get a PhD. Are you seriously telling me that you can't just ask a guy out?"
No, he cannot because he's the most awkward man in existence. "Xiao, how long have we known each other?" Because really, Xiao should know better.
"Long enough to be allowed to call you dumb to your face." He leans forward then, sipping at his coffee. "Okay, so what are you going to do about it?"
Zhongli blinks. "What do you mean, do about it? Xiao, I don't plan to—"
"Wrong answer." A pause. "Oh, don't give me that look. You asked for my advice, so here it is: guys don't randomly tug one out in front of their roommate and risk calling out their name. I think you're dumb and that he's even dumber because he apparently likes you. So, the two of you should just fuck it out—"
"Xiao."
"Well, it'd work, wouldn't it?"
Probably, not that Zhongli would admit to it. "Xiao," he repeats, a little quieter this time, "I didn't confide in you to be reprimanded."
"No, you complained to me." Xiao looks at him, unimpressed. "For fuck's sake, Zhongli. Live a little."
"I'd love to," says Zhongli quietly, which earns a sympathetic glance from Xiao. "I don't have the time for it."
Xiao sips at his coffee again, silent for an uncomfortably long moment. "Then you don't have time fucking worry about this."
Zhongli manages the barest of grins.
#
Easier said than done, of course.
Zhongli is typically a prim and proper sort of man. An old and wise soul, he's often described, which is why Xiao's had it up to there with his whining about Childe.
"What? Your roommate?" asked Xiao when Zhongli first confessed that he might harbor some lust. "Doesn't he have a scholarship to literally just… throw himself at others, and get a ball to the other end of the field?"
Zhongli knows that rugby is more complicated than that, but he'll admit the attraction is odd. Childe isn't particularly his type, either in looks or personality. Xiao's hesitation and confusion is sound. Zhongli is, first and foremost, an academic. He's spent a decade amassing varying degrees, and a doctoral study was naturally the next, logical step.
He didn't expect to become so wholly enamored by Childe. And it isn't just his looks either, Childe has a surprising amount of depth for a jock. He's smart, even if his grades slip, and he's rather observant. Zhongli knows that there's something a little bit more just brewing underneath that easy grin he wears by default.
And, because Zhongli is a researcher at his core, his natural inclination is to study him. It isn't his fault that Childe is aesthetically pleasing and easy on the eyes.
"I think you should go get your glasses checked," said Xiao.
He still says it.
In the beginning, he deemed it mostly a passing fancy, but the more that he spent time around Childe, the more those annoying feelings seemed to grow. It isn't that Zhongli doesn't want to fall in love—nope, nope, not what this is. Lust at best—it's just…
It's been a while since he's considered being with someone, and the loss of his last relationship still stings, even though he's come to terms with it.
The entire thing with Childe is fresh, and new, but also alarming. As a result of Zhongli's hesitation, those feelings have only festered, more like a mildly annoying itch that can't be ignored. Xiao isn't wrong to be entirely worried—he's just aware of the emotional baggage that Zhongli carries around like a heavy boulder.
Zhongli sighs, rubbing at his temple. The night is late and the words on his laptop screen are starting to melt together. Bless twenty-four-hour coffee joints, but also curse them for skewing his sense of time. He didn't mean to stay there until nearly two in the morning.
He packs up quietly and leaves a generous tip, one that earns him a pleasant smile from the nice-looking waiter. When he walks back to the dorm, he takes his time.
Xiao was right—there isn't a need to stay on campus, but his scholarship program paid for it, and it's easier than the alternative commute. Not to mention he no longer dreams of dead bodies and the Wangshen Funeral Director's dubiously themed coupons.
Instead, Zhongli now dreams of tanned, freckled skin, and wonders what nipple piercings might feel like between his fingertips. Because, yeah, those are seared into the furthest reaches of his brain, haunting him (those dreams are good, though he'd never admit it).
The nighttime air is cool and Zhongli breathes a sigh of relief as he takes some time for himself. These walks are often a nice way to sort out his thoughts and self-reflect. Relaxation floods him despite his tired eyes and weariness.
And then he finds himself in front of their dorm room door.
And there is a sock on the handle.
Zhongli stares at it, all that calm, quiet resolve instantly crumbling away.
He shouldn't be surprised. This is a common occurrence, particularly when Zhongli finds himself out and about late at night, studying. Still.
There are no text messages from Childe on his phone, which is unusual. Childe typically warns Zhongli to make himself scarce if he plans on bringing someone back home. Zhongli's brow furrows, just a soft little crinkle between his brows.
"Maybe he was just caught up in the moment," he says to himself in the quiet hallway.
Yeah. In the moment, thinking about—Not him, that's for sure.
Zhongli is about to turn away and trek back across the campus to the cafe when he hears a noise from inside the room. He stops dead, curious.
He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.
He presses his ear against the door, feeling a little bit foolish. "Just for a moment," he says. "Just to make sure that Childe is okay." It's the world's flimsiest excuse but he's sticking to it.
Zhongli wasn't born yesterday. He knows a moan when he hears one, but he's so unaccustomed to hearing Childe so freely. The night before he'd tried to bottle it up, so it'd been mostly breathy sighs and the occasional grunt.
This is not that.
"Shit." Childe moans loud enough to hear through the door, his voice clipped just ever so slightly at the end of it. "Yeah, there, that's—Oh, Gods."
Zhongli pushes away from the door, feeling the burn of his cheeks. His cock twitches pathetically in his trousers, half-full and getting stiffer by the second. He paws at himself, trying to get it to go down. Unseemly, he thinks. And then he wonders why he isn't more disgusted with himself.
"Come on, I can take another."
Another what?
Childe moans again, this time his voice dipping low. "Two fingers is nothing, you know? Give me another."
Oh. Zhongli has made a lot of assumptions about Childe up until now, and this is new information that leaves him with an aching erection and sinful thoughts. Zhongli never thought… He swallows, sweat beading across his brow. He can imagine it, he thinks, Childe spread across his bed. Legs bent and spread, his weeping cock on display.
Zhongli looks from one end of the hallway to the other. It's quiet and dark, and he sees no other lights from underneath the doorjams. His presses the heel of his palm hard against his dick, begging for his brain to just put an end to it. No such luck.
"I'm—fuck, that feels good."
Zhongli makes the worst decision he's ever made in his life.
He drops his laptop bag to the ground with a thunk. His fingers drag across the waistband of his trousers before he unbuttons them to free his cock.
You're acting like a grade-schooler, said Xiao earlier. More like a horny teenager who's never fucked his hand before now. He wonders if this is what they call desperation.
Zhongli hisses as the cold air hits his dick. He licks the palm of his hand for makeshift lube before wrapping it around himself. It isn't prime, it might not even feel that great, but there's a sort of desperation that's fallen over him that he can't quite ignore.
The first pump of his cock makes him groan softly, pressing his forehead against the door as he gently leans against it. Celestia above, he's pathetic, but Zhongli finds that he doesn't really care as he twists his grip around the head of his dick, spreading the precome around with his thumb.
"Come on, just fuck me already." Childe sounds annoyed and impatient, and Zhongli stifles a chuckle. Figures that he would be.
Zhongli hears the shuffle of fabric and the clacking of a belt. Soft murmuring that must be from Childe's partner. Zhongli isn't jealous, he isn't.
He has no right to be.
"You can't ask a guy out?" Xiao's words ring in his ears.
Zhongli won't when he knows that it'll end in failure. It's better like this, pining from afar. He'll think about it until he gets bored, and then he'll move on.
Only, Zhongli is the type to dive in head first and give his partner everything. He's still not over Guizhong—not entirely—and it's been years and a day. He feels almost guilty, touching himself like this, fingers slick as they ghost over his length.
"Fuck," hisses Childe in a punched sound. "Fuck, you feel good."
Zhongli tightens his hand around himself, closing his eyes and imagining that it's Childe instead. He'd be hot and tight, and probably a brat in bed. He'd respond so well, though. Zhongli just knows it. He'd make the best sounds, and look utterly divine as Zhongli fucks into him.
"Shit," he whispers, worried that his voice might be too loud.
He strokes himself to the sound of Childe's moans on the other side of the door. Zhongli wishes it were him instead, drawing such a sweet response, his cock throbbing at the mere thought. He aches, pleasure burning through his gut. Zhongli's cock twitches and drips as he fucks into his fist.
The wood of the door is cool against his forehead as he carefully braces himself there, leaning over slightly with one palm flat against the frame. Quietly, he thinks.
Childe is anything but, moaning and crying out, and keening as he's fucked. Zhongli can hear the wet and sticky slap of skin. He thinks of how Childe might look—on his back, eyes rolled into his skull, legs spread wide?
"No," whispers Zhongli. Too personal. Childe has made it clear that those he brings home are just the flavor of the week. He adopts a rather hands-on and then immediately off approach.
Childe on his front then, ass in the air. Freckles ghost his cheeks—does he have them everywhere else? Yes, thinks Zhongli, stroking himself with a soft grunt. He'd spend hours dragging his fingers across the smooth expanse of Childe's skin, kissing every little spot and corner and crease.
Chest to the mattress—would Childe whimper as those piercings just barely catch on the sheets? As if on cue, Zhongli hears just that, Childe's whine muffled by the thin door. Zhongli wonders how he'd look, ass split wide and open on his cock.
Childe cries out loudly, trying to choke it off, and it's obvious that he's come. The only image that rolls through Zhongli's mind is the mattress below ruined with his spend.
Zhongli's orgasm sneaks up on him. He tips over the edging, thinking about Childe facedown, arched against the mattress and fucking back against him. Zhongli paints the day with his come, and it drips down the wood with a wet splat.
Shit.
Zhongli panics, a foreign feeling. Tucks his cock back into his trousers, heedless of the mess, and nearly trips as he shuffles around to reach into his bag. "Dammit," he hisses, trying to find something to clean up the door with, anything, really.
The only thing in his bag is his nicest sweater vest, a birthday gift from Guizhong one year. The most expensive of cashmere, the type you don't fuck around with when cleaning it. Zhongli winces as he grabs hold of it and presses the soft material to the door.
"It's what you deserve," he reprimands, swiping up his mess. "Gods, I—What is wrong with me?"
A lot, apparently.
Zhongli barely manages to button his trousers back up when the door opens. He looks up and sees the face of Childe's hook-up. "Ah—"
"Don't mind me," says the man as he slips past, leaving Zhongli kneeling awkwardly on the floor.
"Zhongli? What are you doing down there?"
Childe is red in the face as he stands there, and is covered in a thin layer of sweat—but he's fully clothed at least, having pulled on a low-slung pair of pajama pants and a loose shirt. Zhongli tries not to stare at the sharp curve of his hip bone on display.
"I… dropped my vest."
Childe raises an eyebrow. "Isn't that the one I'm not allowed to touch? Surely you didn't just drop it—"
"I tripped. Went flying. My bag—well, it doesn't quite matter." Zhongli pulls himself up onto shaky legs and meets Childe's gaze properly.
Childe watches him back, his brow crinkled. "You okay?"
"Tired." Zhongli forces himself to sound dismissive. "It's been a long day. I wasn't expecting…" He gestures to the door handle. "You typically text out of courtesy."
"Oh shit, you're right. Gods, I'm sorry. Look—"
"What is done is done." Isn't that right? The sight of Zhongli's come splattered against the door is forever ingrained in his mind. He rubs at his eyes, trying to ease his brewing headache.
Childe scratches at the back of his neck. "Want some tea? I know I'm shit at brewing it, but it's the least I can do."
Zhongli nearly says no but his willpower is nonexistent. He sighs softly, and says, "Yes, I would like that."
When Zhongli settles into the small table of their kitchenette, his heart is pounding. Childe sits across from him looking dangerously at ease, one leg pulled up with an arm draped around it.
It is hard to imagine Zhongli not only tugged one out for the first time in what feels like a century, he did it in the most filthy, debaucherous way. He still manages to offer Childe a small grin. Childe grins back, pleased that Zhongli drinks the whole cup.
Even if the tea tastes like shit.