Archive of Our Own

act i. two of a kind 

01 

diluc knows zhongli is a killer. that doesn’t stop him from accepting an invitation to dinner, though.  

zhongli’s home stands as a testament to his refined tastes – the dark umber walls lined with tapestries dating back centuries, a myriad of paintings and artefacts the local museum further down the street could only envy and diluc allows his eyes to rake over the interior once he steps inside. he is a guest after all, and one that is in no rush.  

he can feel zhongli’s gaze on him, heavy and alluring, but diluc keeps his back turned to his, eyes trained on a portrait hung at the very end of the hallway.  

it depicts two men in a bloody tousle, one with his neck bared, the other’s teeth plunging into the supple skin. they are painted in such light, their violent embrace laid bare for the world to bear witness their degeneracy, almost as an invitation to partake in it.  

the brutality of it all doesn’t surprise him, and neither does zhongli coming up to his side and murmuring, “a real beauty, isn’t it?”  

diluc nods, unable to disagree. “quite the conversation starter, i’m sure.”  

“not nearly as often as i’d like,” zhongli sighs, gaze turning onto the piece. “such tenderness might intimidate, i suppose, rather than evoke.”  

“tenderness?”  

“is that not all you see?” zhongli smiles, and from the sliver of sharp teeth, the glint of eyes so foxlike, diluc is inclined to respond that a man like zhongli would be most used to sifting out vulnerability like that.  

“i see what will become a bloodbath,” diluc offers, and when zhongli doesn’t answer him, he grants the painting a closer look – tries to see what zhongli sees, and finds in the background two other men doused in the shadowy darkness.  

with their bodies turned away from the viewer, heads dipped low as they exchange words indiscernible to the viewer, diluc finds these men – unknown, mysterious, and together, a reflection of him and zhongli – both pairs witnessing the depravity before them, both pairs untouchable in the sanctuary of companionship.  

“i suppose they’re a bit like us,” diluc muses.  

zhongli does not appear surprised at his words, but from the twitch in his lip, he is amused. “enveloped in sacred camaraderie?”  

diluc snorts. “that's pretty presumptuous, even for you.”  

“i don’t extend dinner invitations to just anyone,” zhongli says mildly, motioning for diluc to follow him further inside the labyrinth of his home.  

diluc locks his gaze with zhongli’s and searches for danger. when he finds nothing but molten amber staring right back at him, he smiles. “who’s to say i don’t say yes to anyone that offers?”

02 

the day diluc realises zhongli is the man he’s spent the better part of his career tracking down is a day beidou brings them both onto the scene. it’s in rural wuwang, tucked away in a place diluc had always associated with the sort of stories you tell children during the hungry ghost festival, not quite the place for a gruesome crime to have taken place.  

the once sleepy village atop the mountainsides now teem with officers and forensics crew alike, and zhongli is a wordless presence next to him as they weave their way to the heart of the scene. beidou is waiting for them outside one of the huts, her mouth set to a grim, hard line.  

“just go in,” beidou mutters when diluc looks at her in an unspoken question.   

the first thing that warns him of a gruelling day ahead is the putrid scent of rotting flesh which has diluc wrinkling his nose. as his eyes rake over the scene before him, he feels something akin to disappointment. there is little pleasure to be found in picking apart the mind of a killer, much less in the form of what they’ve left in their wake and here, diluc sees the work of someone artless and impatient. unrefined, yet somehow trying to make up for it.  

he sees what once were individual bodies, half a dozen at the very least, meshed into one shapeless form. unity, it screams. unity, it is forced to represent, with not an ounce of subtlety.  

diluc scowls.  

it is one thing to have your life taken for the sake of petty crime, for a bullet fired at the wrong time, a blade plunged into the wrong valve, but it is an entirely separate loss when your body is used as an artist’s medium. sometimes it’s political, often it’s personal, but occasionally, it is nothing.  

occasionally, diluc faces the ramifications of a child that never had their drawings hung up on the fridge, so in adulthood they naïvely resort to escalating the scale to soothe their agitated ego in the futile hope that just because their piece would make headlines, it would mean something. a consolation prize, perhaps.  

unfortunately, they get what they want – a front page story, two- or three-page turners on shitty tabloids, but it is the victims that are left bearing the consequence of having their existence marred by a talentless fool.  

staring ahead, diluc imagines that forensics will only be able to cremate the bodies and offer each family a precise fraction of ashes that will be more in part stranger than loved one. worse still, it might be a joint funeral, as if it isn’t terrible enough to die as one. feeling a migraine coming up, diluc lets out an exhale, thinking–  

“what a waste,” zhongli comments, quiet.  

“what?”  

zhongli turns to him and there is no discernible sadness in his amber eyes. “they deserved kinder.”  

such a simple statement, yet diluc feels his skin prickle with what icarus must have felt when the first light had painted his flesh, with mystique, with awe, with terror. knowing he is treading upon something dangerous, but unable to pivot away, diluc prompts, “a kinder fate?”  

“fate is fate,” zhongli murmurs, “but kinder hands couldn’t have hurt.”  

“it would’ve been murder either way,” he insists. “it would’ve always hurt.”  

“no, a real craftsman would know the human cost, the needlessness of unnecessary pain and suffering, all to create a work of art so beautiful that–”  

“–anyone would die for it,” diluc finishes.  

“precisely,” the tianheng ripper answers.  

diluc blinks and it’s zhongli he sees at the scene of the dozens of murders they’d pinned on the ripper. in his mind’s eye, diluc sees zhongli’s tall silhouette looming over his victims, hands bloodied yet wearing that god-damned three-piece windowpane suit. that coldness in his eyes, the only inkling of his personality being the sheer arrogance needed to leave behind a crime scene so obviously claimed as his own, not willing to share the glory, not even in the unpublished files sitting in beidou’s office.  

diluc stumbles backwards, abrupt enough that zhongli holds onto his arm to steady him.  

the touch scorches his skin, and he feels the urge to wrangle away from zhongli’s grip, skittish and nervous like a feral animal.  

“are you alright?” zhongli asks, his voice a familiar and quiet timbre. diluc tries not to think about whether he spoke to his victims in the very same.  

diluc nods. “yeah, just feel a headache coming up.”  

03 

the first time diluc had met zhongli, he regarded the man with as much disdain he would to any other psychiatrist trying to pick him apart, never mind him being lisa’s mentor. he hated scrutiny of any kind, and while diluc could dismiss beidou’s brand of bluntness as a byproduct of her doomed marriage to her business mogul of a wife, and jean’s perpetual hovering as genuine concern, having zhongli’s dark eyes on him had his skin crawling.  

showing up to his motel room armed with nothing but two containers of freshly made breakfast, diluc had little choice but to let zhongli in, despite it being their second time meeting. the first had gone about as awful as beidou ought to have expected, what with her making zhongli psychoanalyse him the moment diluc stepped in through the door with his fists clenched together in a nervous habit.  

“i apologise if i upset you the last time we met,” zhongli had said, delicately pushing one of the steaming containers towards diluc. “i have a habit of being straightforward.”  

“i can tell.” glancing down at the devilled eggs and sausage, diluc had raised a brow. “is this an extension of your apology?”  

“not quite. i’m rather particular about what i eat, and i enjoy cooking for others. in my experience, most people enjoy being cooked for, so here we are.”  

diluc took a bite of the sausage and found, upsettingly, that it was delicious. zhongli must have noticed, because the satisfied curl of his lips didn’t escape his notice.  

“thank you,” he grunted, “but there’s really no need. i don’t know what beidou needs you around for, but it’s best for us to maintain a professional relationship.”  

“or we could socialise like adults,” zhongli offered.  

“you don’t interest me,” diluc had told him flatly, meaning it.  

“funny,” zhongli smiled, wan. “i think we’re quite alike.”  

at that point in time, diluc had scoffed and retorted with, i hope not, for your sake. the notion must have seemed impossible, that there could be any similarity between diluc, who is antisocial, neurotic and difficult to a fault – while kaeya’s words, not entirely untrue – and a smooth-talking psychiatrist like zhongli, the sort of man who glistens under the very spotlight diluc shields his eyes from.  

in hindsight, diluc wonders how even then, the bastard knew.   

there is a reason why diluc hasn’t told anyone of his revelation.  

for one, he can’t prove it. the tianheng ripper is as meticulous as he is elusive, and zhongli more so. in the few months diluc has known him, his perception of the doctor has evolved from one of disdain to apathy to intrigue, and now to a point where diluc must admit that zhongli is someone he regards as a close friend. even now, despite everything.  

ideally, the discovery should have disgusted him. 

the thought of a friend of his being the ruthless killer responsible for the ticking body count on the bureau's desk and the wisps of grey hairs amongst beidou’s brunette locks should have made bile come up his throat. it should have shaken him to his core, made him feel like he was twenty-five all over again, and at the crux of losing everything he’s ever had.  

diluc imagines telling lisa that her mentor is the monster they’ve been chasing for the past decade, imagines the look on beidou’s face when he tells the head of the behavioural science unit that the kidney pie she’d been fed by zhongli belonged to the victim whose funeral she’d attended two days prior. it would kill them, yet, diluc is still here.  

"what am i doing here?”  

if zhongli finds the question to be strange, he doesn’t comment on it. instead, he places a plate in front of diluc and says simply: “eat.”  

diluc glances down and finds a freshly grilled cheeseburger, no greens in sight and with an egregious amount of red meat – just how diluc likes it. by it, fries done to a perfect golden brown.  

brows raising, he cocks his head to the side. “by your standards, this is a very unhealthy meal.”  

zhongli offers him an unimpressed look. “i am aware. while i would never feed a soul meat that comes from a can, you should find this to suffice your strange cravings. now, let us dig in.” 

he is referring to diluc mentioning off-handedly that he was going to grab take-out, not in the mood for any dish that has an accent mark in its name, to which zhongli had frowned, which was practically equivalent to him openly scoffing in diluc’s face. in truth, he had only said that out of a desire to be petty, not expecting zhongli to listen.  

lisa had told him once that he had zhongli wrapped around his finger, something diluc obviously denied. yet, there lies a use in having a killer regarding you fondly. he won’t delude himself into thinking he’s the tianheng ripper’s soft spot by any means, but diluc figures it might be an easier task to find zhongli’s closet of skeletons when he’s so graciously welcomed into the comfort of his home.  

he wonders what zhongli might think of his eventual betrayal, whether he’d brandish a side of himself reserved only for the lives he had taken, or if he’d feel the same brand of devastation intermingled with thrill just as diluc had.  

the terror of being found out; the joy of being known.       

act ii. no one wants a half-remembered tragedy 

04 

diluc realises belatedly that he’s getting water all over zhongli’s front steps, the rainwater dripping off his drenched body in steady rivulets. he wonders what zhongli will think upon seeing the state of him, seeing just him showing up unannounced at a time that’s entirely inappropriate for the nature of their relationship.  

still, the doorbell has already been rung, and diluc doesn’t quite feel like leaving the solace of zhongli’s sheltered patio and stepping back underneath the unrelenting rain. he thinks he’s had his fill of relentlessness for the night, courtesy of kaeya.  

when the door opens and zhongli steps out, brows pinching together the moment his eyes land on diluc, the first thing out of his lips is an apology: “sorry for showing up like this.”  

“you’re trembling,” zhongli murmurs, the worry evident in his tone. stepping aside, he continues, “come in before you catch a cold.”  

it goes without saying that zhongli’s home is built to host expensive and rare things, and probably not a man who’s getting the hardwood floors wet, with his teeth clattering, and shoulders hunched together.  

zhongli doesn’t seem to mind, bringing over a set of towels. instead of handing it over to diluc, he says, “come, i’ve drawn a warm bath for you. you’ll find it helpful in clearing your mind.” 

diluc, quickly realising that it wasn’t a question, follows zhongli deeper into his house, tracking drops of water as he’s led upstairs into a place that isn’t meant for guests or acquaintances to infiltrate, but reserved for diluc and the rainwater he’s brought along with him, both of which zhongli has an inexplicable leniency towards.  

“i’ll turn the heater on downstairs,” he says, “call for me if there’s anything you need.”  

numbly, diluc nods and shuts the bathroom door behind him. the guest bathroom is larger than the bedroom of his first apartment, and as zhongli promised, a warm bath awaits him, its heat beckoning him closer.  

diluc strips himself to the nude and stares into the mirror.  

the day after his father had been killed, diluc had brought himself before the dirty mirror of the shitty apartment he was leasing and leaned in so close to his reflection that the two versions of himself nearly touched. he had contorted his face – the spitting image of crepus ragnvindr – into an expression of horror, of rage, of dread, of knowing you are about to die, all just so he could picture the last thing his father’s killer must have seen before– 

before the incident.  

before diluc stumbled back home to find his father’s corpse on the hardwood floor he had taken his first steps on, eyes vacant and empty, eyes that would never see again. sometimes, diluc mimicked that too, the expression his dead father wore. with his eyes glazing over and his jaw slack, diluc would pretend that somehow, he could dig from within the crevices of his mind the face of who’d done this. 

as it goes, diluc never managed to catch even a glimpse.   

kaeya thinks it’s his obsession with chasing the unreachable that came to ruin him, but diluc is inclined to believe that he was damned from the day he came face to face with his father’s killer at long last and only wished the beast he conjured were real.  

05 

diluc is a creature of habit, and his current temperament is never learning his lesson.  

he accepted the dinner invitation from jean, knowing very well why it came from her and not his brother, all because he hadn’t seen kaeya in a year. a smarter man would realise that their lack of interaction was purposeful rather than happenstance. diluc tried to think that the distance might have softened his brother’s heart.  

he knew he was wrong long before he pressed the buzzer on the front gate. diluc wore the nicest button up he owned and a pair of chinos he hadn’t touched in years, yet the itch on his skin ran far deeper than the uncomfortable fabric brushing against his arms.  

kaeya had opened the front door, his smile falling the moment his eyes landed on diluc.  

“no plus one?” his brother had asked, before diluc could even get as much as a word out.  

“just me tonight,” he had answered, awkward.  

it was cold outside, and diluc’s coat was doing very poorly in keeping him warm, yet it somehow couldn’t compete with kaeya’s gaze. he could feel kaeya’s eyes on him, frigid calm. meanwhile, diluc couldn’t as much meet his eyes, feeling small under kaeya’s scrutiny. 

“there’s a big crowd tonight,” kaeya had said, “you might get lonely.”  

diluc pressed his lips together. “i’ll live.”  

there was a moment of tense silence where diluc wondered if kaeya would shut him out. in hindsight, that might have been for the better.  

“why are you here, diluc?”  

“jean invited me.”  

that must’ve been the wrong thing to say because kaeya had pursed his lips, before schooling his features into a practised smile. diluc knew it was plastic, because it didn’t reach his eyes, because kaeya hadn’t graced him with a genuine one in years.  

inside, diluc recognised a handful of faces – people he hadn’t spoken to since better days, who stopped sending holiday cards and texts asking to meet up for brunch as the days dwindled by and the diluc ragnvindr they liked having around morphed into a stranger.  

he doesn’t hold it against the world for playing favourites between the two diluc ragnvindrs that presently exist and had once existed, but looking at the crowd, how everyone has found their place amidst warm bodies and idle chatter, he is woefully reminded of zhongli’s parties.  

diluc never ends up knowing anyone at those either, but it all hardly seems to matter when zhongli finds great pleasure in introducing him to everyone, never once leaving his side. diluc had told him once, that he could survive an evening without being paraded around like a prized possession, being tasked to remember more names than appetizers zhongli served, but then zhongli had shaken his head like it was an inconceivable thought to leave diluc by his lonesome.  

alone, diluc’s eyes rake over the many framed photographs hung on walls and displayed by the mantlepiece. they’re mostly of kaeya and jean, and their many trips across the globe, some with little klee and jean’s family, many with people diluc has never met.  

at the very corner, there’s one of himself sandwiched between jean and kaeya, and diluc’s hair was still short in the photograph, barely coming past his chin. he couldn’t have been older than twenty-two at the time, and diluc realises it was from their trip to cape oath some twelve years ago. kaeya looks so much younger as well, still wearing the eyepatch back then, his snaggletooth not yet fixed. jean still wore her thick-framed glasses, golden bangs falling over her brows.  

diluc can trace the way kaeya and jean grow older through the photos, the evolution of their lives captured in little vignettes. eventually, kaeya loses the eyepatch, both gleaming irises out for the world to see, and jean’s smile grows wider, golden blonde hair darkening to a slight copper now cut to a bob. even klee grows past days of pigtails and baby teeth, now tall enough to tiptoe into frame.  

he, however, stays immortalised in his youth, forever trapped in that one picture. there’s not a single recent photo of him, and diluc thinks this might be what kaeya wants. diluc never grows out his hair, never loses the light in his eyes, and never changes into someone kaeya’s doesn’t deem worthy enough to earn a place amidst his wall of memories.  

jean finds him soon enough, and she brightens at the sight of him. “diluc!” she exclaims, warm like the summer sun, “i’m so glad you made it.”  

diluc returns her brief hug, lips twitching up at the one person that’s genuinely pleased to have him here. “of course,” he answers, “never too busy for a dear friend.”  

“you’ve spoken to kaeya?”  

“a little,” diluc says, before changing the subject, “i didn’t think so many people would be here.”  

“it’s a special night,” jean says, and laughs at the confused looked on diluc’s face. “you’ll see. come on, there’s no fun in being a wallflower tonight.”  

diluc ignores the jab and lets himself be pulled, determining that he could be someone else, just for a few hours. the people here don’t know him, and therefore can't know that there once was something better. 

they find kaeya in the conversation pit, flanked at his sides by friends. the ambient lights of the lampshades paint his bronze skin in gold and when kaeya tips his head back to laugh, diluc is so reminded of when they were children and would build forts in the living room, the light from the torch they snuck from the shed casting them in that same shade of tangerine.  

“room for two more?” jean teases and kaeya’s eyes soften at the sight of her.  

“there’s my lady,” kaeya grins, gently pulling jean into the seat next to his. his eyes then flit over to diluc and he says, “don’t be jealous, luc. you can sit next to me too.”  

diluc raises a brow, wondering what kaeya is playing at but does as he’s told, ignoring the eyes on him as he sinks into the conversation pit.  

“you’re diluc?” the platinum haired woman to his right asks him, “i’ve heard so much about you!”  

diluc offers her a tight-lipped smile. “you have? i’m sorry, i didn’t catch your name.”  

“kamisato ayaka,” she offers, beaming. “i know kaeya and jean through thoma. he said you were all friends back in university.”  

“friends?” diluc laughs, “thoma said that?”  

ayaka’s smile falters. “is that not right?”  

“no, no, we just... we haven’t spoken in a while. work and all that, makes life so busy. what do you do for work?”  

diluc tunes ayaka out as she rattles on about her dancing career and her upcoming recital, thinking about how the man he dated for four years called him an old friend . when she’s done, looking at him expectantly, diluc quirks his lips upwards and prods, “how do you know thoma?”  

“oh,” she says, cheeks dusted with a pale pink. “we’re engaged.” 

“congratulations,” he forces out, “when did that happen?”  

“he proposed last summer when we went to zapolyarny,” she gushes, showing diluc the ring. it’s a simple thing, but the diamond is as real as it gets and fuck , he wants nothing to do with this conversation.  

“ayaka, you have to tell everyone about the wedding you’ve been planning,” the girl beside ayaka pipes in, and diluc hadn’t even realised she’d been listening in. he tunes the rest of the conversation out, lounging on the comfortable sofa and idly watching the topic evolve as more people join in, a languid quality to the air.  

he thinks the further back he reclines, the further away the bodies around him feel, as if diluc could somehow become one with the furniture they lounge on – present, there, but not here, not intangible like the invisible strings tying everyone together like he could somehow chime in with, i remember that or tell them about that one time or no, you got it all wrong. instead, he sits between his not-brother and not-friend and feels more like the empty wine glasses on the centre table than himself.  

at one point they begin talking about pets.  

“aren’t you an animal lover, diluc?” ayaka asks, and diluc blinks in surprise.  

“something like that,” he agrees, wondering if thoma told her that, too. “i have a habit of taking in cats and dogs i find wandering about. i’m up to two cats and three dogs.”  

“you and your penchant for collecting strays,” kaeya muses, “i always did wonder if it was something that just ran in the family, or if it’s just your way of overcompensating.” 

diluc’s heart sinks. “overcompensating?”  

“for the stray puppy you found as a child,” kaeya says, his smile unwavering like it was obvious. “you all must know, he adored it so much,” he continues, turning to face the rest of his guests, “when it eventually ran off, like all mutts tend to do, diluc sulked for weeks. the funniest part was that we only had it for about four days.”  

the last part is addressed back at him, with kaeya cooing, “oh, diluc. you and your big heart. i always wondered how you’d survive all grown up, but look at you now.”  

there’s a tittering amongst the crowd, and diluc knows that they are giggling good-naturedly, that there is no malice behind their mirth, but he feels his throat constrict, feels like everyone is privy to what kaeya really meant, that to diluc, kaeya was a mutt begging to be saved and more than anything what diluc ragnvindr wanted was to be needed desperately enough that it made him feel wanted.   

he remembers that dog, remembers its mismatched eyes like kaeya’s and its matted hair because it’d never been loved before, and he remembers loving it because kaeya was right – diluc's heart is a pitiful and predictable thing, like a ragged sponge that soaks in whatever it can take, forgetting that one squeeze is enough to lose it all.  

... 

jean and kaeya call for a toast.  

diluc doesn’t drink but he’s on his fourth glass of wine, a decision that will come to haunt him the next morning.  

“tonight is a special night, not just because you all could make it here, but as jean and i have a little announcement to make,” kaeya begins, casting a fond glance at his girlfriend, “take it away, jeanie.”  

“what kaeya means to say is that we’re engaged,” jean finishes, a small smile beginning to stretch across her lips. “he proposed a month ago when we were vacationing in ardravi valley with friends, and even though we’ve been keeping things under wraps, we’d love to have you all at the wedding.”  

“it’s about time, you two,” someone calls out, earning laughter from the crowd, people talking over one another as they ask the couple their eager questions.  

“ayaka’s been such a help with all the planning,” jean admits, fingers intertwining with the girl.  

“and who could forget the best man,” kaeya laughs, “come on here, thoma.”  

diluc thinks he could have survived one dinner, could have tolerated the fact that his brother wants nothing to do with him and likely never will, but to watch kaeya with an arm around jean’s waist, another swung around thoma’s shoulder as they bear grins so blinding, all while kaeya can’t even bear to look at him – diluc feels sick.  

all around him, the fellow partygoers perform the appropriate act of clapping and joining in the fanfare of celebrating love, and diluc realises he is not like them, that the only reason he’s been granted access to witness such a scene is because once upon a time, he might’ve have fit right in. he might’ve been the man by kaeya’s side instead of thoma, and might’ve had something to smile at the entire night.  

diluc imagines attending the wedding, being seated at the back – close enough that jean can spot him but far enough that kaeya doesn’t, and he imagines someone he doesn’t know leaning in and asking, how’d you know the bride and groom? and he imagines saying, i’m kaeya’s brother or i’m just an old friend, or even, i don’t, not really, and how none of those answers would feel quite like the truth.  

now, he stands, stricken and ruined, and trying his best to keep it together, just a little while longer.  

jean’s eyes meet his, and for a moment, diluc thinks he sees a twinge of guilt meshed with concern, and it is the thought of ruining what’s meant to be a night of celebration for a person so dear to him that gets him offering her a reassuring smile.  

the terrible truth of the matter is, no matter how hard kaeya might scratch and claw at him, how much his bites might sting, diluc cannot bear to hate him, even knowing that it’s exactly what kaeya wants, what kaeya believes will finally keep him away. 

06  

a series of raps against the door has diluc blinking, remembering where he is.  

“are you alright?” 

letting out a groan, diluc tips his head back until it’s resting against the rim of the tub. “yes,” he answers, “i’ll be out soon.”  

his fingers have pruned up by now, and he runs his hands against his face, pushing back his locks. letting out a deep exhale, diluc tries not to let his mind stray.  

cracking open the door, he grabs the clothes zhongli had left out for him and puts them on. they’re soft and likely more expensive than the suit diluc wore, a little large on diluc’s lithe frame. he considers airdrying his hair, but decides against it, wandering out of the bathroom in search for zhongli and a hairdryer.  

he finds zhongli in the kitchen, brewing tea and the scent helps to ground him, reminding him of the kind his father used to drink.  

“you didn’t have to make me anything.”  

zhongli smiles with his eyes. “it’s for me, actually, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”  

were he feeling like himself, diluc might have argued that he doesn’t believe zhongli would drink osmanthus tea in the deep of the night, but he feels like a stranger in his own skin so he just nods.  

“can i borrow a blow dryer?”  

“sure. come, i’ll help you dry your hair,” zhongli says, and when diluc opens his mouth to protest, he continues, “i don’t mind. it’ll help you relax.”  

that’s how diluc finds himself in the guest bathroom, sitting across from a mirror as zhongli brushes through his hair, gingerly untangling the knots. unlike diluc’s thick of mane of hair, zhongli always keeps his pin-straight hair tied into a neat plait or ponytail, never a hair out of place.  

“you’re so tense,” zhongli notes.  

“sorry,” diluc says out of reflex, and zhongli, too, must notice that docility is entirely uncharacteristic of him. then again, so is drinking and getting his heart broken and stumbling onto a killer’s door, as though offering himself up to the tianheng ripper on a gold embellished platter.  

“what bothers you, diluc?” zhongli prompts. his hands continue to brush through his damp curls, gentle and soothing with its motions.  

“are you asking as a psychiatrist or my friend?”  

“to answer that, let me first ask – who are you here as?”   

diluc sucks in a sharp breath. “just diluc.” 

“then tell me what troubles you, and i’ll listen to you as zhongli, plain and simple.”  

under better circumstances, diluc might’ve retorted that there’s very little plain or simple about zhongli, but tonight he bites his tongue and clenches his fists together.  

letting out a brittle bark of laughter, he mutters, “i got my heart broken.”  

for less than a moment, zhongli’s fingers still in his hair before they resume their work. “i did not know you had someone in your heart.”  

“it’s not like that,” diluc says, feeling tired, “not romantic, i mean. my brother is getting married, and he doesn’t want me at the wedding. tonight, he announced his engagement, and i realised i wouldn’t even have known had his fiancé not invited me.”  

saying the words aloud, diluc wonders if tragedy is tethered to every fibre of his being. it’s as if a stench of death hangs over him, morbidity clouding over every inch of his life. he works a job where corpses come to him begging for their killer’s reprise, lives in a house where the wooden floors are stained with the blood of his father, and is halfway in love with a man who feeds him the very organs beidou hounds at her men to dig up.  

“are you two estranged?”  

“probably,” diluc shrugs, “i don’t know. his best man is my ex-boyfriend. i didn’t even know they were friends. frankly, it’s all a mess.”  

zhongli finishes combing through diluc’s hair and sets the brush aside, not before tucking a stray lock behind his ear.  

meeting diluc’s gaze, he draws closer and asks, “does it bother you that they are?”  

“i don’t think i’m allowed to say yes,” diluc confesses, “i hurt them both which likely played a role in them getting close. how can i get mad when it’s practically all my fault?”  

“you’re allowed to feel however you like,” zhongli corrects, “tell me more about this ex-boyfriend.” 

diluc closes his eyes. he hadn’t spoken to thoma at the party, only catching a glimpse at him at the very end. same green eyes and easy smile, but it seemed like he was a world away, caught up in something diluc gave up being a part of long ago.   

“thoma was a childhood friend. we all went to school together – me, him and kaeya, and i had such a crush on him.” diluc drags a hand across his face, remembering the days of spring and first dates and first loves. “we dated after college and broke up right about when my father died. i met his fiancé tonight. i can’t believe he was the man i thought i would end up marrying.” 

“do you still harbour feelings for him?”  

diluc makes a face. “of course, not. it’s just – you ruin your own life, which inadvertently ruins the lives of the people who care about you. you think the whole world’s over but suddenly, it’s been ten years and everyone’s moved past it all and found their place, but you’re still here. i mean, i’m sure you know what happened with me – everyone does.” 

“i’d rather hear it from you.”  

diluc exhales.  

“well, the abridged version is that one day you find your father’s murdered body in the living room and waste about half of the best years of your life trying to find his killer, in the process getting suspended from your job and losing everyone that mattered.”  

“you moved back to your family home,” zhongli says sagely. “the same place he was found.”  

diluc smiles sardonically. “so you do know the story.”  

zhongli shifts to grab a dry tower from the dresser. “do you regret it?”  

“what’s the point? i did it, and i’ve been bearing the consequences ever since. kaeya has always hated that i lived there. nobody else says it, but they’re all thinking the same thing – i know it’s off putting, but if i move out, what will that change? i love the farmhouse, it’s where i grew up, where all the strays found me, where i can get away from the noise of the city. so fucking what my father died there–” diluc laughs, an aborted sound, “he’s dead and he’ll stay dead, and no matter where i go, everyone will remember me as diluc ragnvindr – the guy who lost his mind and never got it back.”  

“all houses are haunted by their own ghosts,” zhongli offers, “there’s very little the dead haven’t touched. besides, you clearly have never heard what your students have to say about you.”  

diluc tilts his head. “what do they say?”  

“they find you very rugged and handsome,” he says seriously, “you have quite the reputation of being a brooding recluse with a heart of gold.”  

diluc pinches zhongli’s arm. “stop lying.”  

“you own about fifty acres of land and take in strays like they’re your family; what else are young impressionable minds supposed to think?”  

before diluc gets to answer, the sound of the hair dryer interrupts him. he uses the time to study zhongli’s reflection in the mirror, too tired to care about being caught staring so unabashedly.  

“thank you for tonight,” diluc sighs as zhongli ties his hair into a ponytail.  

offering a faint smile, zhongli shakes his head. “you’re welcome. though i’m glad that out of everyone, you came to me.”  

“it wasn’t much of a competition. frankly, i don’t think i’m anyone’s favourite person,” diluc admits, and his face grows hot when he feels his vision blurring. “i know, it’s childish to care about these things.” 

zhongli’s eyes soften at the sight of him, and diluc doesn’t know whether his heart lurches out of shame or fondness. “there’s nothing juvenile in desiring to be wanted.”  

“i wouldn’t even care, you know,” diluc continues, “if it just weren’t so obvious that the people who do care clearly prefer the version of me i was before i fucked my life over – before i became something to put up with because i once was worth keeping around.” 

“i would disagree,” zhongli offers, gingerly wiping away a lone tear threatening to spill over.  

“you wouldn’t if you knew me back then.”  

diluc looks up at him, nose scrunching when he feels zhongli pinch his cheek lightly before letting go. 

“i don’t need to. i quite like you just as you are currently. rather, i find myself more taken to you as the days go by.”  

despite himself, diluc lets out a snort. zhongli’s lips pull to a small smile at the sound, and he sits beside diluc, their knees knocking together, now at eye level with one another.  

“i am sorry i cannot take the pain you feel away, or possibly fill a void left by family, but i can only hope that it eases your heart to know that as a companion, there’s none i’d rather than you.”   

diluc lets out a pearl of laughter. he feels delirious, the events of the night and his own exhaustion catching up to him. it’s what has him confessing, “when you say things like that, it makes me want to kiss you.”  

zhongli lets out a considering hum. “i’d rather you didn’t.”  

diluc frowns. “don’t you want me?”  

“that’s a dangerous question to ask,” zhongli murmurs, his thumb brushing against diluc's cheekbone. “of course, i want you. what i also want is for you to reciprocate that desire. right now, you might think you want me, but what you really want is someone by your side, and i’m more than happy to be that person.”  

“but?” diluc interjects, despite knowing what’s to come.  

zhongli smiles. “if i were to kiss you, it will be when you want me. specifically, me. only me. and when you’re sober enough to remember it, but that’s a given.”  

act iii. as the fist loves the broken rib 

07  

diluc looks up from his desk to see zhongli by the door, a ghost of a smile on his lips. he’d just dismissed his class, mind already onto the latest case beidou had brought him onto, but the sight of the psychiatrist has him blinking in surprise, criminal profile forgotten.  

“what’re you doing here?”  

“my schedule was clear for the afternoon and i thought you might like to have lunch together,” zhongli suggests, unbothered by the lack of greeting.  

“so certain i’d agree?” diluc asks, just to be difficult.  

they haven’t seen each other in person in over a week, their exchanges limited to brief phone calls since zhongli has a predictable aversion to texting. diluc declined zhongli’s many lunch and dinner invites, making up excuses just to avoid the older man. he knew the other man wasn’t pleased, but diluc’s stubbornness famously knows no bounds.  

he hadn’t thought zhongli would show up to the academy, tight-fitted dress shirt and all, looking as unbearably handsome as he always does. were diluc less prideful, he might have welcomed the visit. 

“well, yes,” zhongli says, unabashed. “did you have breakfast?”  

“are you expecting me to say no?” setting his glasses down back into their case, diluc grumbles, “i can cook, you know. believe it or not, i was a fully functioning adult before you put it upon yourself to keep me fed.”  

“i never insinuated otherwise,” zhongli says primly, “i know it’s a long drive for you here, not to mention how you take the dogs out before that. i just asked if you had anything to eat amidst all that.” 

something churns in his gut at being known so well. “i didn’t,” he concedes with a sigh. “woke up late.”  

“are you having trouble sleeping again?”  

“something like that,” diluc mutters, picking up his bag and motioning for zhongli leave with him. he leaves out the part where he hasn’t stopped thinking about the night where he stupidly asked zhongli to kiss him, with the harsh sting of rejection being his only reward for that moment of impulse.  

zhongli makes a sound of disapproval like he’s not quite willing to set this aside, but they bump into rosaria in the hallway, saving diluc from having to deal with the stifling air between him and zhongli.  

rosaria’s gaze shifts between the two of them before a grin stretches on her lips. “i didn’t know you’d be here, zhongli,” she says, wry. “could i steal your detective for a moment?”  

“hello, rosaria,” zhongli greets warmly, unphased by the teasing. “go ahead.”  

“you’re awful,” diluc mutters once zhongli is out of earshot.  

“he’s visiting you during work hours now?” rosaria coos, “how romantic.”  

“is there anything you actually need?”  

“unfortunately, yes. we tested the fingerprints from the minlin case and it didn’t match the guy boss pinned as the perp, leaving us yet again with no leads.” letting out a long-suffering sigh, rosaria continues, “beidou’s been in a foul mood all day. she even yelled at albedo. i think you’re next ‘cause she told me to go look for you.”  

“not today,” diluc proclaims, “rosie, you never saw me here.”  

rosaria feigns a look of hurt. “you would leave your dear colleagues in the dust?”  

“yes,” he says blandly, “i’m going home.”  

zhongli is informed of this impromptu decision when diluc returns to his side and states, “it's your lucky day - i’m cooking for us today.”  

... 

there’s no traffic at midday and it’s about an hour’s drive back to his farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. diluc hands zhongli the aux and he picks a traditional liyuen folk piece, the soothing melody of the erhu filling the silence between them. there’s a palpable tension in the air, and diluc knows he’s to blame.  

when diluc unlocks his front door, he’s welcomed by the bull terrier and labrador, otto and lizzie, who eagerly crowd at his feet. behind them, riese, his calico, lazily peers at him from the couch. diluc’s eyes soften at the sight of his strays.  

“where have vennessa and rostam gone?” diluc asks, shrugging off his coat and kicking his boots to the side. 

he gets his answer soon enough when zhongli steps in after him and the sight of him has his dogs running towards him with enough force to make the man stumble in his step. letting out a soft pearl of laughter, zhongli crouches, eyes crinkling when rostam, who decided to make his appearance, licks at his face.  

“alright, you all missed zhongli, i get it,” diluc chastises, slightly miffed that the dogs have taken such a liking to zhongli after having met him only a couple of times. “remember this when you think about who feeds you.”  

as if to placate him, vennessa comes forth from beneath the couch and curls around his pant leg, letting out a satisfied purr.  

“there you are,” diluc murmurs, leaning down to scratch behind her ear. “don’t tell the rest but i missed you most.”  

vennessa was his very first, and she’s been with him since he found her as a dirty, scrawny thing, matted ginger fur and all. he wasn’t faring much better either, it being the first month since he started living in his family home all alone. they found each other as strays of their own sort, diluc thinks, a serendipitous thing.  

“playing favourites?” zhongli teases from behind him.  

“hardly,” diluc drawls, before glancing over at his overexcited pups. “since you’re so revered by my dogs, why don’t you take them out for a walk? i’ll get lunch started in the meanwhile.” 

“so eager to get rid of me?”  

“you caught me,” he says dryly, only half lying.  

... 

“my cooking up to par, doctor?” diluc asks, watching zhongli cut out a bite of beef tenderloin.  

“exceeded my expectations,” he admits, “who taught you?”  

“my father. he did most of the cooking at home. always told me he’d hand over his book of recipes when i got a family of my own. i’m pretty sure kaeya has it now.”  

“what about you?” 

diluc shrugs. “i doubt riese or vennessa would be interested in a risotto and i’m fairly sure the dogs would eat anything i give them. what about you – where did you learn?”  

“would you believe me if i said i were self-taught?”  

“obviously not,” diluc grouses.  

“in truth, i never took an interest to it until adulthood,” zhongli shares, “i was on my own for the first time in my life and realised how much i missed my sister’s cooking back in our village. i could never replicate it, learning most recipes from cookbooks and through meticulous trial and error, but eventually i came to see it as my own craft.”  

“do you have a favourite dish?”  

zhongli smiles, more subdued than usual. “nothing really did live up to her meals. i can’t say i remember the taste, but i remember the feeling. even now, i chase it.”  

diluc wets his lips. “i think i get it. no one does this recipe quite like my father did. it’s the legacy they leave behind, i suppose – not just the measurements of ingredients but the heart and soul and all that.”  

“very poetic,” zhongli remarks and diluc rolls his eyes.  

“don’t patronise me.”  

“i’m wouldn’t dare. i appreciate our conversations. it’s a shame being deprived of such sweet company.”

"i can be unfair too,” diluc says without thinking and rises from the table, dirty dishes in hand.  

“unfair?”  

“forget it,” he dismisses, turning his back to the other man. he rolls his sleeves up before turning the faucet on to do the dishes. he doesn’t want to know what sort of expression zhongli is making, or have zhongli thinking that his sweet-talking has any effect on him.   

“i’m afraid i can’t,” zhongli answers before diluc hears the dragging of the chair and the creaking of old floorboards. “you’ve been avoiding me all week and i want to know what i’ve done wrong.” 

“i’m not avoiding you.”  

zhongli lets out a laugh. “you won’t even look at me.”  

when diluc turns to face him, zhongli curls a finger around scarlet lock and steps even closer, so diluc has to tilt his head to look up at him. “i missed you all week,” he murmurs, and presses a kiss to his hair. “the days passed so slowly.”  

“you must be doing this on purpose,” diluc scoffs, disbelieving.  

“doing what on purpose?” 

“saying these things like you’re in love with me.”  

there’s a pause. “can’t i be?”  

“you’re in love me but you won’t even kiss me?” diluc takes a step back and finds that he’s trapped between zhongli and the kitchen counter. “no one’s that chivalrous, not even you.”  

something flickers in zhongli’s eyes, and a cocky smile begins to unfurl on his lip. the sight of it has diluc regretting opening his mouth. “so, that’s what upsets you,” he mutters as if coming upon a grand discovery, eyes flitting to his lips. “is it so terrible to say that i had hoped you would do it yourself?”  

"you’re insufferable,” diluc groans and then he’s fisting zhongli’s collar and pulling him down with more force than what’s strictly necessary, all just to kiss him.  

zhongli’s hand comes to cradle the back of his head, the other at his waist, holding him like he’s something delicate. having him so near, diluc can smell the jasmine zhongli grows in his garden, and it’s dizzying, to have everything he’s wanted right within his grasp. only, zhongli keeps the kiss chaste, and diluc’s spent too long dreaming of this to be satisfied with sickly sweet closed-mouth kisses.  

“you’ve already romanced me,” diluc snaps, “drop the gentleman act.”  

“so demanding,” zhongli grins against his lips.  

zhongli hoists him by the thighs onto the kitchen counter, swallowing the sharp gasp diluc lets out with his mouth. diluc’s hands wind around zhongli’s shoulders, playing with the nape of his neck as his thighs bracket the older man’s hips, drawing him so close till their chests are flush against each other and when diluc pulls away to catch his breath, he can see how dilated zhongli’s pupils are, amber irises trained solely on him.  

the rapt attention has diluc smiling, immensely self-satisfied for reducing a man as put together as zhongli into a heaving mess, eyes hungry with desire and a discernible tightness to his pants. when zhongli chases after his lips, diluc places a finger on his mouth, smirking when zhongli makes a gruff sound of impatience.  

“would you like to stay for dinner?” he asks innocently, laughter bubbling up his throat when zhongli scoffs and pulls him into a searing kiss.  

08 

these days, when diluc wakes up, it’s to a kitty curled up at his feet and a warm body by his side. he still has bad dreams and blood between the panels of his floorboards but he’s more often asleep in zhongli’s bungalow by the harbour where blood is kept in the basement instead, in the form of the dead body that diluc finds half dissected on the sterile surgical table.  

diluc wonders if a copy of their missing person’s report is pinned on the LYPD’s bulletin board full of disappearances, if they are the sacrifical lamb that allows diluc to steal his moments of intimacy with a man that could never be his. he wonders if they deserved such a fate, or if zhongli’s hands were itching for bloodlust or worst still, if his fridge was simply short of a kidney.  

he could call someone. he could call beidou, or rosaria, or lisa, or even the police, and it would all be over. the tianheng ripper is a deep sleeper and zhongli, inexplicably, would forgive diluc either way.

instead, diluc drags his feet back up the stairs and gets back into bed. zhongli cracks an eye open at the rustling of sheets.  

“where did you go?” he asks, voice rough from sleep.  

“went to grab a glass of water,” diluc lies, and falls back into zhongli’s arms where their legs tangle together and zhongli hooks his chin over his shoulder. he doesn’t bring up the corpse in the basement, but he doesn’t stop thinking about it - their eyes, cold and diluc's heart, colder.  

... 

loving zhongli is as hard as it is easy.  

diluc goes to work and points beidou in every direction except the man he gets into bed with. he teaches his students how to create a criminal profile while actively altering zhongli’s own. then, he comes home to warm meals and gentle, soft hands that know violence like the sun knows her flowers and the moon her seas.  

even when he has diluc caged against the mattress, his face pillowed by the soft sheets, zhongli is always gentle, always kind. the marks he leaves on diluc’s throat bloom like violets and peonies and when they’re both well-spent, with muscles aching and skin glistening, zhongli presses a kiss to his lips like he’s promising diluc a lifetime of this.  

once, in the crux of climax and in the heat of the moment, diluc moans out, “you’re so good to me.”  

he then bites his tongue and wonders if that’s where all of zhongli’s goodness has gone.  

“you know me,” zhongli murmurs, sultry and low, and diluc wants to demand how he can bear to say that, knowing that as far as zhongli is aware, diluc isn’t damn near aware of anything. “how could i be anything but?”  

but you are, diluc wishes he had said, but you are but you are but you are but you are–  

but then zhongli holds his hand and takes him to the opera, to the country club, to the antique auctions, and even though diluc has always hated all these places, suddenly they hold a beauty that he had been blind to and suddenly diluc realises he is the kind of man that spends weekends going to horse races and wine tastings all because zhongli is the kind of man who makes it worthwhile.  

“there’s something different about you,” beidou tells him one morning, eyes narrowed. they’re at a morgue and somehow his boss is in a worse mood than usual.  

“good different?” he tries.  

“i’m still deciding,” she mutters. “rosaria, what do you think is wrong with agent ragnvindr?”  

rosaria angles her head towards them from where she’s examining a body with albedo and baizhu. “you’re asking me to pick just the one?”  

“hilarious,” diluc says wryly.  

“since when have you been a jewellery man?”  

diluc’s hand ghosts over the pendant around neck. zhongli had left it at his bedside table and diluc thought he’d return it when he sees the man for dinner. he tries not to think about zhongli’s subtle attempts at brandishing him with his sigils of ownership – hickeys that peek over the collar, earrings that match the ring zhongli wears, and now– 

“it's not mine,” he dismisses, and realises he shouldn’t have said anything at all when rosaria’s eyes widen.  

“not yours?” she croons.  

“i see it now,” baizhu comments, not even looking at them. “ragnvindr must be a man in love.”  

"you’re seeing zhongli?” albedo asks in earnest as rosaria gasps in an exaggerated display, “the cor lapis even matches his eyes.” 

“why would you assume it’s him?” diluc asks albedo, brows pinching together.  

“who else would it be?” beidou and baizhu chorus, exasperated and incredulous.  

diluc presses his lips into a thin line and accepts defeat.  

later, when diluc drops by zhongli’s office, he intends on lamenting this development to his better half – rosaria's words, not his – but the words die on his tongue when he stands by zhongli’s unnecessarily expensive neoclassical desk and finds– 

“is that a framed photo of me?”  

“yes,” zhongli boasts, strangely pleased with himself. “don’t you look so lovely?”  

“where did you even get that?” is what diluc says, ignoring the skipping of his heart, the free fall that follows, headfirst into uncharted territory shaped like a word he doesn’t dare utter.  

09 

his guts come splattering out on a july evening when the warm summer air has his skin sticky and his heart hungry.  

“isn’t it so serendipitous that you came to me that night? i often wonder what led you there, and how i could show my gratitude.” zhongli sighs, and he sounds so fond in his musings that the tenderness of the moment has diluc spilling out his insides, and making a scene so revolting that the purity of zhongli’s wistfulness is defiled by his own ugliness.  

“i came because i hoped that you might kill me.”  

diluc has only twice caught zhongli off-guard – the first being the day they met, and the second being the night he prepared dinner for the other man. tonight marks the third, and diluc knows the moment he feels zhongli’s body stiffen above his own that he’s made a mistake, that there’s still a killer in this bed and a racing heart in his reach.  

“because you wanted to die?” zhongli implores, after a tense moment.  

when he peers down at diluc, and there is no discernible softness in his eyes. diluc imagines it’s how the tianheng ripper might glance over at a lesser creature, gaze hard and hollow, gaze unlike how he’s ever seen it. 

“because it would have been you,” diluc corrects, with a urgency to his tone that only makes him feel more vulnerable. when zhongli does not reply and stays silent besides the steady rise and fall of his chest, he continues, “because i’ve seen the way you treat your victims. because i, too, ached to be taken apart and made into something beautiful.”  

“how long have you known?”  

“since we worked the case at wuwang together.”  

“that long ago?” zhongli falters, “then why is it you come back to me still, even now? you know what i am.”  

diluc swallows thickly. “how can i not? this could only ever end in two ways, either you kill me, or you keep me, and both ways i am graced with a brand of attention like there’s more to me than what actually is.”  

“you think that i would ever lay a hand on you?” zhongli’s brow arches, and his fingers tug on a tress of diluc’s hair, pulling harsh enough to sting, “after everything i’ve done to put you back together?” 

there’s a challenge to his voice, a meanness that he has never shown diluc. it shouldn’t exhilarate him as much as it does.  

“i thought it would be like you. you know, to find a wounded dove – at the cusp of death, no less – and to undergo the labour of nursing it back to health only to eat its heart at the very end, just to know the taste of resilience, to savour the love that brews, the life that fought to live.”  

zhongli’s lips curl upwards. “are you giving me ideas, sweetheart?”  

“you could still do it,” diluc says, voice barely above a whisper, “i wouldn’t mind.”  

a warm hand cups diluc’s cheek and zhongli angles his face close to diluc’s own. “if i were to consume you,” he begins, low, “your heart alone could never satiate my hunger. i’d need to have you whole, and even that wouldn’t be enough. just a taste, and i fear i might chase that feeling for eternity. wouldn’t that be so wretched?”  

before diluc can respond, zhongli bites down on his bottom lip, hard. the groan that escapes his lips is muffled when the stinging sensation is soothed by zhongli’s tongue, eager to lap up the blood that beads to the surface. the kiss tastes like iron and when zhongli pulls away to let them catch their breaths, diluc knocks their foreheads together with enough force to hurt.  

“you can’t let go of me,” diluc rasps out, between breaths, “i wouldn’t survive a second time.”  

“you’d have to pry me away,” zhongli assures, “and even then, the claw marks i will leave in my wake would haunt you for long enough.”   

once, diluc might have shrunk away from such displays of possession, but now he finds comfort in being wanted so dearly.  

“i thought i would end up turning you in,” diluc tells him honestly, desperate to get it all off his chest. “for months, i wanted to.” 

“what stops you?” he asks earnestly.  

diluc rests his palm atop zhongli’s chest and feels for the beat of his heart. no matter how much zhongli might see himself as a god, the fluttering between his ribs like the wings of a bird tells diluc all he needs to know. the tianheng ripper is an untouchable, intangible, infallible. the man he loves is not.  

“i don’t want to lose you.”  

zhongli’s lips ghost over his knuckles. “you won’t.”  

“i’ve spent the past year covering your tracks when you got sloppy. i might.”  

“i’m never sloppy,” zhongli laughs, affronted.  

“arrogant, too,” diluc mutters, “did you know that hu tao told me she felt like she was being followed, and asked if i told the ripper to target her next?”  

“if i truly wanted miss hu gone, she would be.”  

“for gods’ sake, li,” he presses, “she’s a college student writing true crime tabloids. you can’t kill her just because you find her annoying.”  

“that’s not why. she was cruel to you.”  

“so was my brother,” diluc barks out a disbelieving laugh, “would you think of killing him?”  

zhongli doesn’t answer but has the decency to appear at least a little abashed. diluc’s expression darkens before he scowls. pulling the man by his collar, diluc hisses, “if you lay even a hand on kaeya, you’ll never hear from me again.”  

“i wouldn’t,” zhongli assures, removing diluc’s hand. “i assume this means you don’t approve.” 

“did you expect me to?”  

“i never thought about it,” zhongli admits, “frankly, i never considered that i’d ever let anyone who found out live.”  

“guess even in all your meticulous planning you never factored me in.” 

he means it as a joke, but something tender flickers in zhongli’s eyes. “no,” he agrees, pressing a lingering kiss to diluc's cheek. “i didn’t.” 

diluc looks at zhongli and studies his face – the planes of soft skin etched with crows feet and smile lines, the sharpness of his eyes, irises the colour of the cor lapis pendant diluc now wears. his silky, chestnut hair that’s longer than diluc’s own.

diluc knows he doesn't wear a mask when he kills, doesn't deprive his victims the same way he deprives diluc - true self laid bare, in all its vile and heartless glory. 

diluc should hate him, and has every reason to, but he doesn’t think he can. he thinks zhongli is it for him, the best he’ll ever have.  

“since we're in the mood for confessions, i have one of my own," zhongli whispers.

diluc nods, a nervous thrumming beneath his pulse point. 

"this might upset you, but i dream of you joining me. i close my eyes and envision us on the hunt, together, hand in hand. sometimes, you kill and i watch. it's entirely self-indulgent, but you look so beautiful, always. radiant like a star i get to keep for myself." 

“you trust me enough?”  

zhongli brings their foreheads together, far gentler than diluc expects, and when he peers down at him, there is no animal-like desire or howling beast simmering beneath in his eyes. there is a serene brand of contentment, like the quiet loving diluc sees all around him – as the fist loves the broken rib, as the lungs love the chase, as the finger and nail love the tear and gouge.  

“i love you enough,” zhongli says quietly, hands ghosting over the apples of diluc’s cheeks. “somehow, you make solitude appear as the lesser companion. i want you by my side always, and even when i am painted in red, all i am reminded of is you and your eyes, and your hair.”  

“it would be banal to insinuate that you somehow tame me,” he continues, tracing the outline of diluc’s jaw, “but darling diluc, you make me feel more man and less god, something i might have once scorned at, but now i revere.”  

diluc swallows thickly. “knowing this, would it be cruel if i asked you to stop?”  

zhongli doesn’t answer, so he continues, “i never thought i’d make it past twenty-five, much less thirty-five, but here i am and i can’t tell you the last time i’ve dared to dream of a future for myself. but just last week when lisa and i were downtown i saw a dog bed and my first thought would be how it’d fit perfectly in your family room, once i finally convince you to let the dogs stay over. and then thoughts like just kept coming – moving in together, getting three more cats and two more dogs, homes with white picket fences and two-point-five children–” 

“–children?” zhongli asks, surprised.  

“children,” diluc stresses, “when will this end, zhongli? when you get caught and we’ll have no choice but to flee to fonatine?” 

“i do own a summer home there–” zhongli interjects.

diluc glowers at him. “i’m being serious."

“as am i. i have been this way ever since i could remember, but as a child i would resist my true nature for my sister’s sake. the first man i ever killed was on the day she died, and since then, there had been none i cared for as much as i did her,” zhongli’s eyes softens as he says, “then came you.”  

letting out a slight chuckle, he continues, “i can’t imagine how we’d have room or time for five cats and five dogs between the two of us, but i’m stupidly enamoured by this picture you paint, diluc. enough to resist once again as i did back then.”  

diluc’s breath hitches in his throat. “you mean it?”  

“anything for you,” zhongli vows, with the confidence of a god, and the brazenness of a man.