Chapter Text
This job is a total bore.
Childe spends half of it aimlessly scrolling through his phone, swiping through matches on dating apps, shooting them cringey one-liners in the hopes for a hit. Once again, he is unsuccessful . He can’t imagine why. Fresh college grad. Young, handsome. He’s just narcissistic enough to say. Smart, too.
Gas station attendant. It’s not a bad gig, as far as jobs go. Graveyard shift means less people. More money with the shift differential. Customers are in and out. Efficient. The few that linger end up being characters that Childe cannot say he minds much.
There’s this group of kids. Two guys and this one goth girl that show up over the weekend. Usually just dropping a pile of snacks and soda on the counter. Occasionally, they try to buy alcohol off him like he’s an idiot and can’t see the highschool parking pass stuck to the window of their old pickup in the lot.
The first person to really stand out to him is this man. He shows up during the weekdays only, around 2 am every other night. It’s strange. Perhaps, what is so off putting to Childe is the neatness in which he presents himself for this time of night. The three piece suit he wears is crisp, as if freshly dry cleaned. Not at all like he’s come off a bender or dragged himself out of a late night office trip. Or maybe, it's the thin peek of wrist when he hands Childe a wad of cash that reveals a shiny, gold Rolex.
He can’t be real. Just a very elaborate illusion. Why would a guy like this show up nearly every night to buy a 99 cent Arizona Green Tea and a pack of Pall Mall’s?
Two weeks into the job, Childe rings up the familiar man again.
“$12.32,” He says. It’s redundant. The tally is the same every night, usually the man would slide over some cash. Exact change. And leave without a word.
Tonight is different. The man grimaces when he reaches into his jacket pocket. Childe watches as he turns around, sheds his coat for a matching vest and button down, and turns his pockets inside out. When the man looks back, it is with a face Childe knows too well.
“No,” Childe mutters.
“I appear to have misplaced my wallet.” He says without an ounce of shame. Not yet moving on from the register. Does he expect-? A man like this. Really. Childe is supposed to believe he’s broke and that this whole thing isn’t a scam?
“You can return once you find it, sir.”
The man sighs with this deep, tired expression that Childe finds too relatable. Okay, he’s not a heartless guy. Even he can make exceptions.
“Alright,” Childe announces and slides the items back to him. “I’ll cover it this once.”
This is dumb. It’s not like he has his own bills, rent, and debts to pay. But maybe, he relishes the ounce of relief that fills the man’s expression in the small smile aimed at him. HIs heart jumps. It’s not his fault this strange man is so handsome. Ridiculously, Childe thinks. What’s he doing in a small town like this?
“This is a kind gesture. You have my thanks, er…” He reads the name tag. Childe’s real name has been scribbled over in sharpie and replaced with a handle. “Childe?”
“Weird, I know.”
Zhongli is the man’s name. He gives it to him as courtesy before the bell chimes, and he leaves the shop. Childe watches him through the glass. He does not leave, but sits at the curb outside and silently smokes for half an hour before disappearing into the night.
Strange, Childe thinks. He never sees him pull up in a car. He, also, never pays him back for that night.
Childe grows to anticipate him in these long hours of boredom. He doesn’t show every night, and tonight marks a week since the enigmatic stranger has made his appearance.
The rain pelts against the windows. It falls in sheets so thick the street is barely visible. The neon lights reflect off the drops that wash over the glass. Childe errantly taps through his old Gameboy, his feet propped up on the counter. It’s been over an hour since he last had a customer. The storm must have warded everybody off.
Thunder cracks. The lights flicker, and Childe shoots up with attention. His back goes straight, tension pulling at his muscles. The security feed to his left cuts out, and the overhead lighting whirls back on with the kick of the generator.
Uh…
It makes him want to laugh. What is this, why is he so on edge? He’s already instinctively reaching for a broom. The fluorescent lights over the drinks section burn out with a pop. It casts a third of the store in darkness again.
The front door chimes, and by the time Childe looks to it, the automatic doors have closed.
Someone-? Where?
Oh, Childe sees a familiar form– wide shoulders, a nipped waist– the only man within miles wearing a suit at this time of night. Childe heaves in relief, slinking back into his chair and picking up his game again.
“Mr. Zhongli, you had me worried there. A night like tonight, well it has me on edge I guess.”
Childe stares when he hears nothing back. Zhongli… doesn’t look himself.
Like a soaked through cat, for one. Dripping and in disarray. The water pools in a puddle beneath him, but it's murky, a dingy darkness pooled to the tile. Zhongli steadies himself. Childe watches, curiously. It’s as if he’s putting on a new guise, shaking into it, stretching out the skin over his bones. A hand runs through his hair, it slicks back off his forehead, and he sheds off his top layer. The jacket he folds carefully over his arm and places on one of the chairs to dry.
He does not spare a glance back at Childe, but proceeds to the drink section like he would if this were any old night. Childe is starting to get the feeling it is not.
Zhongli peers at the rows of drinks for some time, as if he does not choose the same thing every night. Childe peers from the top of his game screen. It’s read GAME OVER for the past five minutes, and he hasn’t bothered to restart. Outside the storm roars. Lightning cracks and floods the shadowy part of the store with light.
There’s something strange in that split second. A shadow upon the floor that Childe would think impossible. A wriggling form not unlike a pile of snakes, but as soon as the flash passes, Childe sees it no more. His imagination, surely. He should stop going to bed with horror movies playing. It's starting to worm into his subconscious.
Eventually, Zhongli opens one of the refrigerator doors and pulls a bottle from its depths. Childe’s already pulling the pack of cigarettes from behind him and ringing up the usual on the register.
Childe blinks only once, and Zhongli is there, sliding a strange new bottle of tea across the counter. Childe looks at it like it's an offensive thing. “You’re out of stock.” Zhongli mutters at the scandalous bottle of Pure Leaf before him.
He is different.
Dark brown hair plasters to his forehead, dripping across the counter when he leans slightly forward. Long fingers scrape into the ads and lottery instructions pasted to it. They’re terribly pale, the darkness of his veins showing through the skin. He does not look well.
“Are you…” Childe regrets it as soon as the question forms on his lips. “ Okay?”
Zhongli’s head raises, and Childe’s stomach flips at the pierce of ethereal gold that zeroes on him. His imagination, he tries to convince himself again. No human’s eyes can look like that. Contacts, maybe? The kind cosplayer’s wear?
“Yes.” Zhongli answers quickly. “I don’t have my wallet today either, Childe.”
A shiver shoots through him. It’s the second time Zhongli has addressed him by name, and it’s heavy, rolls off his tongue like it’s always been there. Childe hates the stupid, shameful, impulsive way his dick swells from it.
“If I didn't know any better, I would think you were taking advantage of me. You do realize this costs more than I get paid in an hour.”
Zhongli pauses. He straightens up, and when he shakes the rain from himself a second time, he looks more like the man Childe has grown accustomed to.
“Apologies,” He offers. “I did not mean to overstay. I can offer payment in another way.”
Childe’s mind immediately goes to the gutter. Fuck, he really hopes Zhongli can’t see his stupid boner from behind the counter.
Zhongli carefully raises his arm and pinches the clasp to his watch. No, no. He can’t be serious. Dead. When he places it on the counter in trade. “I can’t take that.” Childe says to the shiny gold watch in front of him. God, it's probably more than he’d make in a year right there if it's real. Although… even a fake Rolex is worth more than a pack of cigs and a tea.
Shit, he can’t really be considering–
Zhongli looks so solemn to him. There’s something in his eyes that is so damn compelling. Childe falls for again. Idiot.
“Ah, fuck.” Childe says. “Fine, but if you want it back bring the cash.” He won’t pawn it for at least a month. Give Zhongli the chance to get his act together.
A smile curls on his mouth. Childe has to look away, to sheepish and awkward, before he basks in it for too long. His dick can’t handle it. He might have just burst right there.
“My thanks.” Zhongli says, before he leaves with the chime of the bell, and Childe swears when it happens, he sees the sharp point of teeth hidden beneath those lips.
It's late in the afternoon the next day, when Childe lays back in his bed observing the watch Zhongli had given to him the night before. He hadn’t realized at the time that the damn thing is broken. Permanently stuck at 2:22 A.M.
(Weird. Childe would think only later, that's around the time Zhongli usually comes into the store.)
It’s waterlogged, too. The rain sloshed around the clock face. Garbage. Zhongli had given him fancy, shiny garbage. He should be mad. Probably. The guy’s got him to front the bill twice. Maybe, that’s his game– show off his fancy, handsome face around small towns and profit with free stuff. He’s sure the lady who runs the motel would eagerly give him a room on the house.
And Childe… well, he fell for it, too.
“ Ah, fuck.” He flops back dramatically, thinking of his upcoming shift in a few hours. Will he see Zhongli this night? Part of him hopes so. The small, horny , stupid part of his brain.
And see Zhongli, Childe does that night.