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Summary
“Is, uh.” Childe’s mouth went dry. “Is that you, Zhongli xiansheng?”
“Indeed, it is,” Zhongli spoke, lifting a very small paw to rub at his snoot. The deep voice in contrast with such a cute appearance was very jarring, an unsettling wave of confusion short circuiting Childe’s brain. As the harbinger stood at his bedroom door without a sound, Zhongli shuffled forward to the edge of the bed, his face turned up to meet his eyes. “Thank you for coming. I was having trouble getting my daily tasks completed in this form,” he continued, settling his round body comfortably in his new sitting position. One could not even tell where his head stopped and when his body began.
Archons, Childe wanted to poke him.