Chapter Text
The collar around your neck is fun to play with.
It’s something Childe gave you early on in your time with him. To this day, you’re not sure if he gave it to you because he was merely in a good mood or because you’d actually been behaving well, but it’s fun to tell yourself that you deserve the gift.
Good girls get presents, he said with a warm smile as he unlatched the heavy, metal collar that you first received and swapped it with the fancy one in his hands.
Bad girls get sent to Scaramouche to be tortured until they die of shock, was his next warning, delivered with an equally bright smile as he fastened the pretty thing and straightened it on your neck.
Then I’ll be good, had been your immediate response.
Childe liked that.
You didn’t mean your words at the time. They were a lie, spilled past your lips because you still clung to the hope that your life could go back to normal if you waited this hell out, that someone would find out the truth about what Fatui "merchandise" is, that someone could un-traffick you and you could stop spending your every waking moment pleasuring Childe and his clients.
Then, you saw the corpse of one of the girls Scaramouche had beaten to death, and all remaining hope died.
She died the day you received your collar.
When you saw her corpse, her own neck was empty.
As you play with the jewels that hang off the silver band around your neck, you try not to think about all the previous girls who’ve worn this same collar. It’s easier that way. There are only two ways to lose your collar: death or being sold to someone else. Unbearable as Childe is, both are awful to think about.
So, you try to think of nothing.
“What’s on your mind, angel?” Childe stares down at you and cups your face, his thumb brushing by your cheek with an odd sense of affection.
Nothing, you yearn to say, but you know that forcing yourself to engage in conversation will be easier than taking a beating for insolence.
“The men we saw this morning,” you finally say, staring up into Childe’s blue eyes from where your head is laid against his thigh. “Their ties were crooked. It made them look funny.”
A smile breaks out onto Childe’s face.
“You noticed that, huh?” He chuckles. It’s a boyish sound, something that would make you blush if it wasn't the same sound you hear whenever he whips someone. “That’s why I like you. Even now, you’re perceptive.”
His words are a quiet insult thrown to everybody else in the room: a reminder that, even if Childe is ignoring them, he knows they’re there, that he’s choosing to do so, that they’re being treated so poorly for their inability to be as perceptive and compliant as you. He doubtlessly does it in hopes of hinting that, should they start behaving, the way they’re being treated might improve, but all it does is further the girls’ resentment towards you.
“Thank you, Sir.”
It’s the only suitable response you can come up with.
A few months ago, you might have tried to salvage the situation. It’s certainly not the first time Childe has praised you in front of everyone, shamelessly broadcasting his favoritism; in fact, the first three months you were here, you tried to respond to his every compliment with some kind of deflection in hopes of saving face.
Now, though, you know better.
The girls around you will hate you for as long as you’re Childe’s favorite. As long as there’s a distinction between them and you—as long as they face nightly beatings and you don’t, as long as they’re forced to kneel on the ground when you can lie on Childe’s lap, as long as they wear ugly, metal chokers that make it hard to breathe and you have your freeing ornamental necklace—they’ll always hate you.
At this point, you can’t bring yourself to care. As long as those idiots continue to try to break free, they’ll continue to be punished. You'd rather use that time to earn Childe's favor.
On days where you have to watch them get stripped naked and beaten bloody while you stand in safety wearing the worn, expensive jacket that Childe gifted you, a small voice in your head whispers: better them than you.
Nine months ago, you would have tried to ignore that voice. Now, you’re familiar enough with it to know that it speaks the truth.
A two-tone chime breaks you from your thoughts.
You cast your eyes to the right, staring at the lit-up phone that Childe is glaring daggers at. From your position, you can see that it’s a text message, but you can’t make out the words without craning your neck upwards. You know better than to do that, so you stay put, continuing to toy with the jewels that hang off your collar.
“Alright,” Childe starts when his eyes scan over the text. “Everyone out. Go to your cages. Someone will tell you when to come out.”
You don’t bother moving. It’s obvious that Childe’s instruction was meant for them and not you, the key being the fact that he told them to go to their cages.
You don’t have a cage.
Childe lets you sleep with him in the master bedroom of his penthouse apartment, and you don’t even mind anymore how all he has you do in return is open your legs for him every night.
“Faster,” the man snaps when the girls dawdle. “I don’t need my next clients seeing all your ugly tits, so get the hell out.”
Your eyes instantly dart to the naked bodies of the girls walking out, tracing the figure of the eleven pairs of breasts Childe deemed ugly. Their bodies look an awful lot like your own.
Sheepish, you creep an eye up at the man in question, an inquisitive look in your eye.
“Not you,” he coos, voice easily turning affectionate. His hand, which had been resting comfortably on your bare shoulder, travels down to squeeze at your breast. “You’ve got the prettiest tits in the world, angel.” Childe smiles down at you. “Keep them nice and on display for our guests, okay?”
“Yes, Sir,” you mumble, used to his manipulative compliments.
The last girl in the line to walk out flashes you a jealous glare. You ignore her.
It’s a moment before any clients enter the room, but Childe spends that time thumbing your nipples until they’re hard. It’s his favorite pastime, but you know he’s not doing it right now for the sheer pleasure of playing with your breasts. It’s all a part of his act: to make it look like even the slaves he’s trafficked have been domesticated to enjoy their owner’s touch. Anyone in your position would instantly know that it's fake, that there's no remote way you could ever enjoy his touch, but the men and women who own slaves like you have always had a screw loose. You think Childe even might believe his own deception, that you somehow like his touch the way he likes you.
A long whistle steals you from your thoughts.
“Goddamn, Tartaglia.” The playfulness of the voice makes you want to turn and look at the man in question, but you force yourself to stay still so as to not risk angering Childe. “I know that this is the penthouse office and all, but damn.”
The figure in question stalks into your view with another impressed whistle, the man still looking around.
You don’t blame him for being surprised. The first time Childe dragged you into his office, you’d been stunned into silence. Back then, you were still defiant to his every touch, daring to bite at his fingers when he tried to cup your cheek, but nearly all of your fight was drained from your body when you saw the sheer size of the man’s office. It's the embodiment of his wealth and power, so much more than anything you could hope to escape.
It was giant back then and it’s giant today, even more so now that the evening sunlight is streaming through the windows. The orange glow illuminates everything from the wooden floor to the expensive couches that fill the room, and it’s easy to be impressed, easier to be intimidated.
The man in question looks out of place as he shamelessly takes in the view, almost reminding you of an excited puppy. He's nothing like the other clients you've seen, gloved fingers twitching with the obvious urge to touch the expensive decor that litters the room. You have to forcefully remind yourself that he’s a client of Childe’s, that he’s just as involved in the trafficking industry as your cruel owner.
“Calm yourself, Kaeya. We’re not here to gawk.”
A second voice warns you of its presence, the supposed colleague of ‘Kaeya,’ a redhead who stalks into your view with an air of confidence. He looks a bit more comfortable in this giant office, but even he, with his fluffy hair and babyish face, looks out of place in the office of Snezhnaya’s most prolific human trafficker.
“Aw, but how can I not, ‘Luc? Think about it, if business continues, this could be our office someday!”
“If business continues, then you and I will have a better office than Tartaglia's.” The man shoots Childe a cold glare.
“That’s a bold statement, Diluc,” Childe says, humming. There’s a smile on his face, but you can tell that he’s not pleased. “If you want an office like mine, you’ll need to outperform the Fatui. You think you can do that here? In Snezhnaya? The base of our operations?”
“We’re getting close enough,” the man named Kaeya shoots back. His smile had been so bright earlier, but now all you can think about is how dangerous his lone eye is as it glints in the sunlight. “It’s common knowledge that the Fatui prioritize numbers over all else, but we from Mondstadt have a saying: quality over quantity. It’s why other districts prefer our merchandise to yours. It won’t be long, now, before our business surpasses yours.”
You want to butt in, want to say that the phrase Kaeya mentioned isn’t actually from Mondstadt, but you know better than to risk angering one of Childe’s clients. You keep your mouth shut, instead watching as the men before you trade insults.
“Are you trying to imply that my merchandise is low-quality?” Childe's voice dips. His hand tenses possessively over your naked shoulder.
The man named Diluc shoots Kaeya a stare that makes it clear he wants the blue-haired male to shut the fuck up, but Kaeya ignores him and continues on.
“Not at all, Tartaglia. I don’t need to imply it.” Kaeya smiles, casting his eyes upon your figure for the first time. “Everyone here already knows it’s true.”
Childe’s grip around your shoulder tenses, his fingernails digging in so deeply that you fear for a moment he’ll draw blood. The pain grows stronger, and you look up at Childe to see his jawline tensing as he tries to hide his furious expression. (He fails. Childe has never been particularly good at masking his emotions. Unlike you, it's a skill he never had to learn.) After a beat, though, the tenseness fades. Your owner relaxes his grip on your shoulder completely, and your expression twists into one of confusion.
“They called you low-quality, angel.” Childe coaxes your head off his lap, ignoring his guests entirely as he guides you into an upright position. “Are you low-quality?”
“No, Sir.” Your reply is automatic but you say the words with infinite care, eyes wide and innocent like the sweet slave Childe wants you to be. It’s not that you actually care about Kaeya's insult—you’ve had enough interactions with Scaramouche to be used to such harsh criticism—but you know that Childe cares. He values your life more than you do at this point, and you know better than to undermine him when there are people watching.
“Good girl,” Childe hums, moving his finger to under your chin. “So go show our guests how high-quality you are, alright?”
“Yes, Sir.”
A warm smile from Childe is your cue to move forward, so you do so instantly, crawling off the couch until you’re standing directly in front of the redheaded man named Diluc.
“Tartaglia, getting your private whore to suck me off isn’t going to change anything. We’re here to make a business deal, not so you can prove whatever point you’re trying to—”
He’s cut off when you begin working him out of his belt with your teeth alone, palms flat against the hardwood floor. Diluc stares down at you in a mix of awe and surprise.
“Skilled, isn’t she?” You can feel Childe’s smile staring down your back. “She’s good with her mouth.”
The men watch in silence as you continue to unwork Diluc’s pants, Childe with pride and Diluc and Kaeya with surprise. You might find it in yourself to be content with their impressed stares if this weren’t the fiftieth time Childe had made you do this. It’s his favorite way to start off business meetings: to wait for someone to criticize the Fatui’s reputation and then unleash you on his clients, tipping the power balance ever in his favor while you reduce his clients to nothing more than their base instincts.
“You don’t have to…” Kaeya trails off when you successfully pull off DIluc’s belt with teeth alone, the man startled at how effortlessly you undo the button and zipper of his pants.
When you’re face to face with the redhead’s clothed bulge, you glance up for permission.
The face that stares down at you surprises you. Diluc looks startled, no, mortified, as you mouth at his cock through his underwear. It’s not like the rest of Childe’s clients where they instantly grip your hair and fuck your mouth until you wish you were dead. No, for a single second, Diluc looks at you like you’re doing the most horrifying thing in the world and he can’t possibly understand why.
Then, Kaeya mutters a quiet “'Luc,” and the expression is masked.
“Well?” Diluc snaps, voice hard. His expression is hard as he stares down at you, but you swear you detect a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Is she just going to stare, Tartaglia? Your merchandise must be lower quality than I thought if it can’t even—”
Diluc’s voice breaks off into a sharp hiss when you tug his underwear down and wrap your lips around his cock.
“Damn,” Kaeya seems to force a chuckle, the man crossing his arms in approval as his hungry gaze skirts over your figure where you kneel at Diluc’s feet, bare for everything except the ornamental collar around your neck. “That’s the first time I’ve seen someone take all of Diluc in one go.”
For a moment, you think that there’s a hint of concern in Kaeya’s voice.
You quickly decide that you must be imagining things.
“Of course,” Childe hums. “I already told you, my merchandise is high-quality. All my girls are like her.”
“A shame you only deal in girls,” Kaeya hums. “Though, we understand. Boys are harder to transport. And the Fatui have never been known for their resourcefulness.”
Kaeya and Childe keep talking, their insults growing more and more blunt with time, but you continue to work yourself along Diluc’s length. It works well. The man is so focused on your mouth that he’s completely useless as you distract him, ignoring the banter as he shuts his eyes and lets his gloved fingers twitch in your hair.
It makes you want to speak up, makes you want to pop off Diluc’s dick and tell him that being this gentle with you is pointless, but then you realize that the reason he’s being so gentle is probably because he must be new to this industry, some kind of greenhorn that isn’t used to being serviced by the merchandise even though it happens at almost all of Childe's business deals. You stare up at his face, the man's eyes still shut and his eyebrows lightly furrowed as he stops himself from bucking into your face, and you remain silent. Even if you're used to people treating you like shit, it's always nicer to, y'know, not be treated like an object.
“Fuck,” Diluc mumbles from above you, his fingers tensing in your hair. The action hurts more than it should, his gloved hands pulling harsher against your hair than other clients' bare hands ever do, but you have no choice but to bear it as he continues to hiss curses under his breath and tug at your hair.
You know he’s about to cum when his thighs shift forward.
Childe seems to realize it, too.
“That’s enough, angel.”
You don't need to look back to know that Childe is smiling, that he's offering his usual cruel smirk to Diluc who, now that he realizes what your owner has done, looks ready to kill.
You keep your eyes trained on the ground as you slide his cock out of your mouth. A part of you almost feels bad, knowing that he was barely seconds away from cumming, but that thought disappears as soon as it arises. Your job here is only to listen to Childe's orders: to distract one of the clients and shift the power dynamic in your master's favor. That's all. You have no need to feel sorry for a man like Diluc who, even though he treated you somewhat decently, must have ruined tens of thousands of other lives with his own trafficking business.
You can feel the weight of the scowl Diluc is shooting Childe.
“Good girl,” your owner says, blatantly ignoring the redhead. The man pats his lap and you crawl forward, straddling his thigh and pressing your breasts against his chest the way he likes. “Perfect,” Childe whispers, kissing your jaw. “Such an angel.”
He shifts his attention onto the men behind you.
“Now, where were we?”
You don’t need to look behind you to know the depth of Kaeya and Diluc's glares.
The rest of the meeting progresses the way Childe's meetings usually go. He encourages Kaeya and Diluc to sit down, and they do so with as much professionalism as they can manage, but it's all for naught with how prominent their erections are under their pants. Childe doesn't bother pretending not to notice, all too aware of how a single well-timed glance at their pants causes them to flush with shame, both men embarrassed with their predicament that's only furthered by the way Childe flaunts your naked body in front of them. Your owner is equally hard, but his erection is hidden by the way your thighs are swung over his lap, an effortless picture that makes you look like the perfect slave as you rest your head against Childe’s chest while he smirks at his clients—the power completely shifted in his favor for as long as Kaeya and Diluc are hard.
“So do we have a deal?” Childe asks after nearly an hour of harsh bargaining. He plays with the jewels that dangle off your collar, boredly slapping them against your nipples. It doesn’t feel like anything to you, but you know that the sight puts Kaeya and Diluc on edge. After nearly an hour of dealing with their boners, they don’t bother trying to continue arguing even though it’s clear that the contract Childe is proposing will help him much more than them.
“Maybe,” Kaeya says. He tries to keep his tone airy and light, but his voice is strained. “But I have worries on whether you can actually deliver on your side of the shipment. Fifty girls per month, even if only thirty are trained, is a lot. Even Scaramouche’s numbers weren’t this high.”
“Scaramouche’s numbers are lower because he kills half his girls while breaking them in,” Childe says, humming. “Don’t worry about me delivering on my end of the contract.”
“We'll decide what we do and don’t worry about,” Diluc hisses, clenching his fists so tight that you think he’ll break his hands in half. “You’ve done nothing to prove to us that you’re reliable. We’ll need an early shipment for proof of quality.”
“Oh?” Childe cups your cheek. “Are you still doubting the quality of my merchandise?”
“And why wouldn’t we?” Kaeya counters. “One girl that you trained well tells us nothing about the rest. Proof of quality or no deal, Tartaglia.”
Your owner’s smile turns into a frown.
From what you’ve gathered after all your months by Childe’s side, he’s a trafficker known best for quantity over quality. The one criticism every client has had with him has been the training of his merchandise, and although Childe always denies it, you’ve seen first-hand how defiant and disrespectful the other girls are. There isn’t a single doubt in your mind that Kaeya and Diluc are right when they’re calling him out for trying to sell them low-quality girls that haven’t been properly broken in...and everyone in the room seems to know it.
If they really try to demand proof of quality, the likelihood of Childe securing this deal is going to tank.
He has no quality to offer.
“We might let it slide, though,” Kaeya muses, and Diluc turns his head so sharply that you can immediately tell that the two haven’t talked this out. “Skip out on proof of quality, you know.”
“And what would you want in return?” Childe hisses. His hand moves possessively to your thigh.
“That pretty girl in your lap,” Kaeya says, voice chipper. “And all the fake documents you have for her.”
Childe’s nails dig so deeply into your thigh that you think he’ll draw blood.
Then, all tension subsides.
“You boys really think with your dicks, don’t you?” He lets out an airy laugh, one so good-natured that it’s hard to believe he was glaring at these same men a mere ten seconds ago. “That’s fine, I know foreigners like you tend to get a bit dumb when you’ve been hard for so long.”
“What are you—”
“You can fuck her,” Childe interrupts casually, inspecting a jewel on your collar. “Choke her. Hit her, if you’re into that. Do whatever want to test her out. But that’s all the proof of quality you’re getting. A quick test until you guys cum, and that’s it. You’re both idiots if you think I’m about to give you my favorite girl for a business deal I can easily make with Zhongli.”
Childe glares harshly at both Kaeya and Diluc. For a moment, there’s a thick tension in the air that unsettles even you, but it dissipates when Kaeya scribbles something on the back of a business card. He shows it to Diluc, arching his eyebrow at the redhead with a dangerous smirk.
Diluc reads what’s on the card, writes something in response, and then both his and Kaeya’s gazes have shifted to you. After nearly an hour of watching them glare and scoff at Childe, their expressions are unnaturally focused as they stare at you. There's no loathing in their gaze, just determination and drive. It vaguely reminds you of an image of two snakes posing next to each other, ethereal and still, rearing their heads back right in preparation for a strike.
“Give her to us, then.” Kaeya leans back on the couch. “I wanna see if her pussy is as nice as Diluc seems to think her mouth is.”
You can sense Childe’s immediate relief when he realizes that they’re not pushing for an actual proof of quality.
“Go, angel.” The hand he presses against your back is gentle but firm as he coaxes you off his lap. “Show them how good you are.”
You obey.
It’s not the first time Childe has pushed a client into a disadvantageous business deal by bribing them with your body. That’s all he used you for when he first got you, since you were the only person he trusted to not bite a client’s dick off. If anything, you’re used to the way Kaeya kneels behind you and begins fucking into your cunt. The fact that he’s fucking you without any lube or preparation barely even bothers you anymore, the sharp pain turned into a dull agony that you’ve grown familiar with in your time under Childe.
Diluc is a bit more cautious than Kaeya, though.
He cups your cheek when you pull his cock out of his pants, stroking the skin with the same affection you get from Childe when he’s in a good mood. Like Kaeya, his hands are gloved, but even though the leather material is rough against your cheeks, you find the gesture to be soothing, almost comforting. The action stuns you for a moment, leaving you so dumbfounded that you can’t tell if you’re imagining it or not when Diluc brushes the hair from your face with a wistful smile.
When you see him silently mouth out the words I’m sorry before he presses his cock against your lips, you decide that you’re imagining things.
“Ah—” Kaeya groans from behind you, shameless as he fucks into you despite two men, two business associates, to hear him. “Fuck, ‘Luc. You were right. She’s good.”
You half-expect to hear an I-told-you-so from your owner, but he seems to be preoccupied with something on his phone. In his stead, Diluc responds with a weak chuckle, his hands finding your hair once more as he lets you set your own pace at sucking him off.
It’s strange.
This is hardly the first time you’ve been in this position, body bent down to please two men at once, but it’s the first time either man has offered a shred of care for your body. Of course, the care that Kaeya and Diluc are offering you is still minimal, but the fact that Diluc isn’t deepthroating you and Kaeya’s letting his fingers circle your clit, even if his fingers are gloved and rough so there's still no pleasure to it, is novel. You haven’t experienced this kind of care in a long time, not since you were free.
If Diluc’s cock weren’t stuffed down your throat, you’d laugh at how low you’ve set the bar.
“You two, hurry up. I have another client soon, and there’s no way in hell that I’m leaving her alone with you.”
Childe’s bored warning increases the intensity of Kaeya’s thrusts, the man’s hand dropping from your clit to your thigh. His grip there is strong as he begins fucking you harder, faster, deeper. The motion inadvertently forces you farther down on Diluc’s cock, and the way the redhead’s fingers dig into the fabric of the couch tells you that he’s close.
“Oh, fuck.” Kaeya’s fingers tense around your thighs and he bends closer against you, a hand snaking over your body like it’s about to grab your breasts, but his fingers instead clutch one of the jewels dangling off your collar. His pace stutters at that, curious at the object in his hands because it's most definitely not the warm flesh he was searching for, but then you hear a deep chuckle from behind you, and Kaeya pulls, yanking your collar down and constricting your throat around Diluc’s cock as he cums inside you.
You just barely manage to stop yourself from accidentally biting down when you feel how tight your throat is, but it doesn’t matter because a second later Diluc cums down your throat as well, and you feel disgusting, sweaty, and sticky with how semen leaks out from both ends of your body.
If you weren’t already used to being used like this, you think you might pass out.
“Easy,” Diluc mumbles, cupping your cheek as you try to regain your breathing. It’s not obvious that you’re choking, given that you’re careful not to make a sound, but he picks up on the little jerks of your body and the tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Make sure to swallow it all,” Kaeya hums, pulling out. He tucks his cock back into his pants and moves next to you so that his body blocks Childe’s view of you. “Say aaaah.”
You instinctively want to slap him when he makes such a childish demand, but you know better. Forcing the tiny remnants of your pride into a pit, you swallow the remaining fluid in your throat and open your mouth for Kaeya, going as far as to make a hoarse “aah” sound.
Kaeya smiles at you briefly before mouthing something to Diluc.
The redhead moves quickly.
Diluc tries to make it seem casual, how he fetches something small off the couch and folds it, but he’s quick to press the object into your mouth, creasing it against your tongue. “Good girl,” he says a little too quickly, withdrawing his fingers and coaxing your mouth shut.
Instantly, your eyes fly to where your owner sits—but when you turn your head, you’re met with nothing but the pressed suit Kaeya wears, his chest blocking Childe from your view and you from Childe’s.
You tilt your gaze up at him, eyes wide with curiosity, fear, and uncertainty.
Shh, he gestures, lifting a finger to his lips. The mirth that had colored his earlier expression is entirely gone, he looks nothing but serious as he gazes down at you. Don’t tell, he mouths.
You twist your gaze instead to Diluc, staring at him as if he’ll be able to give you any answers, but the redhead merely shakes his head, shooting you another expression that you couldn’t decipher if you tried.
“If the two of you are done, get out. I have another client to meet with. We can finalize details next week after the first shipment.”
Childe doesn’t bother pretending to be polite now that his business deal is secured. You expect one of the men in front of you to retort, but all Diluc does is sigh and straighten his suit out. Kaeya shifts his position so that he’s no longer blocking you from your owner’s view, quietly mumbling “yeah, yeah.”
“Come here, angel.”
Childe beckons for you to step toward him, and you immediately do so, straddling his lap effortlessly. The first thing you think to do is pull him into a hug with your head over his shoulder so you can pull the object out of your mouth and check what it is, but the man tilts your cheek towards him.
“How are you feeling? Did they hurt you?”
“No,” you mumble, fear sinking in when you realize that you have a light lisp with this object in your mouth. Kaeya and Diluc, who had been about to exit, both pause as if expecting Childe to comment on it.
The room stills.
“I mean—throat hurts,” you mumble out, pressing your head into the nook of Childe’s shoulder. The position doesn’t allow you to check what’s in your mouth at all, but it makes it clear that you don’t want to talk, you just want to be in your owner’s arms. It couldn’t be farther from the truth, but you’re long past being disgusted by doing what it takes to survive. When Childe wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to your temple, you force yourself to relax in his arms.
“It’s okay, angel. I won’t make you talk if it hurts.” Childe waits for the door to close as Kaeya and Diluc exit. “But my next client is stubborn. I’ll need you to suck him off to take him down a peg. You can do that, can’t you?”
You make a sound in the affirmative, mainly because you know that it wasn’t actually a question.
“Good girl,” Childe hums, pressing another kiss to your head. He pulls you out of his arms a little, dropping his eyes to the collar around your throat. “And if you do a good job with him, I’ll give you another jewel for your collar, okay?”
The light smile that breaks out on your face is an answer enough.
“Perfect. I’m going to step out to greet him, okay? He’s richer than the last two, so we have to treat him a little better.”
You don’t know why Childe is explaining this to you, but you nod your head anyway, shifting off his lap so he can stand up.
Childe doesn’t bother saying anything to you as he leaves, too familiar with you to think he has to say anything like stay still or don’t break anything while I’m gone. Still, it might have been better if he had provided you with some kind of instruction to distract you in his absence, for as soon as the door closes behind him, you’ve spit the object in your mouth out into your palm, noticing that it’s grown a tad soggy.
Your heart falls when you realize that it’s a paper.
What if you blurred the ink with your saliva? What if the words are illegible? What if your one chance at returning to the life you used to have, a life where your life was your own and not the property of someone else, was sabotaged by your own idiocy?
Tears are welling in your eyes even before you’ve opened the paper up, but when you do, an odd mix of confusion and relief hits you.
The words are legible. The paper seems to be made of cardstock, and it’s stronger than the two minutes of saliva that it was exposed to; but for a moment, you’re left dumbly staring at the letters.
The object in your palm is a business card: rectangular, white, and completely ordinary. It has the name of a company, a phone number, and a few other lines of contact, but nothing you can use.
Frustration begins to broil in your stomach. Did Kaeya and Diluc really think that you could do anything with a business card? Childe may trust you, but he’d never be dumb enough to leave you around anything that can contact the outside world. The best bet you have at contacting the phone number or addresses listed are if you somehow steal Childe’s phone while he’s not looking, and even that’s pointless since you don’t know his password.
Then you flip the card over.
Realization overwhelms you as soon as you see the message written out.
WE CAN HELP YOU.
The first line is written in messy handwriting, but the capital letters are impossible to misread. There’s a question mark scribbled out at the end, but you pay it no attention, your heart already beginning to beat faster as your eyes dart down to the second line.
COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU.
You reread the message once. Then, twice. Thrice. And you keep doing it again and again until you’re certain you’re not hallucinating the words on the paper, until you’re certain that this is the message Kaeya and Diluc wanted you to read.
For the first time in months, hope begins to bloom in your heart.