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Summary
"X-Xiansheng…"
"Hm?"
The harbinger squirms against him, his breath hitches at a particularly harsh tug. "It's too much—ngh..."
Zhongli places his head at the crook of Childe's neck. He hums. "Already? What happened to all the bravo from before?"
Childe jerks at the twist of Zhongli's finger, his hands grip the consultant's coat. "I-I'm sorry—" Another moan is hiss out through gritted teeth. "Zhongli!"
