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Childe could have easily confused Aether’s hoarse whisper for a faint remnant of his own dream—one that left his memory as soon as it was pulled from his vision. He took a breath. The haze of drowsiness still drifted just behind his eyes as he listened, past the murmuring of the midnight breeze and the rustling of the grass and branches it caressed.
Aether fidgeted. The sudden movement, akin to a shrug, just slightly displaced Childe’s arm from where it draped over Aether’s waist—but, the creatures of habit that they were, even the subtle shift was more than enough to catch his attention.
He's dreaming…?
Childe willed his eyes to open just a little more. He needed enough of his senses back to determine what Aether was dreaming about, and he had a guess.
This routine was nothing new to him.
Granted, Aether’s nightmares had all but ceased in recent months; it took more brain power than Childe currently possessed, in his half-awake state, to remember exactly when was the last time foul dreams had plagued Aether’s slumber with any regularity. Still, the habit of comforting Aether in his sleep remained ingrained in his body and his mind alike. Even as their adventuring team grew and their sleeping arrangements changed, should Aether stir sufficiently in the middle of the night, Childe followed his instincts and held tighter to the little Traveler. He was so good at it now that he rarely woke himself up in the process.
Not that Aether was the quietest sleeper in the first place; there were plenty of nights where he’d roll over and back—multiple times, even—all without any apparent distress.
(Thankfully, he never snored.)
No, it wasn’t necessarily the movement Childe anticipated; it was the sound of Aether’s voice, calling out a certain name: the name of the warrior who had joined their adventuring team the most recently. Yet it was this warrior for whose company Aether had yearned the longest—the one who, in spite of everything, seldom was there to comfort Aether as he slept, as his duties obligated him to vanquish demons after nightfall; besides, as he would respond when confronted about it, adepti had no need for sleep.
Childe, however, took no offense that the name Aether called in his nightmares was not his. He never had. This was a constant in their relationship from the day they began traveling together. Perhaps it was even more appropriate to say that Aether’s nightmares were the reason for their relationship—for their meeting that Childe considered fortunate.
Childe never intended to remain at Aether’s side for longer than one afternoon. But Aether, at the time so quiet and meek and lonely—so painfully, desperately lonely—insisted, no, begged Childe to stay with him while he fell asleep, and poor Childe hadn’t the heart to refuse. He told himself he would just leave as soon as Aether started sleeping soundly, and he would be back to minding his own business, serving the Tsaritsa in his relentless search for ever-stronger sparring partners. Yet, in the same moment that he thought Aether must have been fast asleep by now, that persistent whisper made itself known for the first time.
“Xiao… Xiao… Xiao—”
Back then, it wasn’t a name with which Childe was acquainted. But he understood, from the way Aether called it in his sleep, over and over, it must be the name of someone very precious to him—someone the lonesome Traveler missed dearly. Now, Childe was kind of a self-proclaimed bad guy, but any intention he had of leaving Aether’s side before daybreak evaporated in that instant. Not that he considered Aether his family, someone he would abandon everything to protect—at least, not yet—not after only one day. Still, witnessing the poor lonely Traveler toss and turn, call out in vain in his sleep, stirred within him the desire to keep him safe. And so Childe, at a loss for what else to do, comforted Aether the only way he knew how: he gently rested a gloved hand on Aether’s head, caressing his golden hair. Aether’s unconscious fits of desperation were more active than he expected, though; as Aether reached out for Childe in return, one thing led to another, and ultimately, Childe rested beside Aether, with him, the Traveler’s head tucked firmly against his chest.
And he fell asleep that way.
He never bothered to ask about the contents of these dreams, nor did Aether ever offer any further details of his own accord.
“You were having a bad dream.”
At the time, Childe merely brought up these nightmares as an explanation as to why they woke up in each other’s arms.
Aether responded only with a sigh, his gaze drifting, unfocused, to somewhere on the ground nearby. “Ah… so I was.”
After that, Childe made every effort to remain at Aether’s side, except when his assignments from the Fatui made it absolutely impossible. As a result, he bore witness to enough of Aether’s nightmares—apparently, the same one every time—that he eventually lost count of them.
The name Aether called wasn’t even his—it never was—and yet, somehow, maybe it really was on that first night that Childe fell in love with him after all. He could only remember that, at some point, Aether became so precious to him that he never wanted to let him go.
Childe never stopped to think about being jealous. Not even when Aether became infatuated with yet another man, sometimes calling his name in his sleep instead. Not even when the initial object of Aether’s affection finally showed up to stay at his side for good, quelling all but the most occasional of Aether’s nightmares, despite rarely being there to comfort him as they happened.
To Childe, there was never any question that Aether loved him back. Perhaps the primary reason was that Aether had beaten him to the confession, way back when… Sure, he knew now that Aether was prone to sudden and intense displays of affection, but when Childe happened across that meek boy on the cliff above the marsh, he never would have guessed that he would someday make a move on him first. That disparity only cemented his certainty of the fact.
He never needed to stop and wonder whether Aether really cared for him; every so often the recollection of that event would replay in his mind’s eye of its own accord. Never mind that the confession followed the only sparring match to which Aether had ever consented; how could he ever forget how Aether suddenly called out his name—Tartaglia—how Childe barely met his gaze for a moment before Aether’s fingers alighted on his chin—so gently that he could have confused his touch for the caress of the wind—and coaxed Childe’s lips onto his, kissing him with far more strength and warmth than Childe would have thought possible of the skinny boy, Aether's longing radiating from his skin like body heat until it permeated Childe to his core and burned the backs of his eyelids—how Childe gladly returned the kiss, for what felt like hours, until his lips ached from the pressure, and Aether withdrew, only because the tears dripping from his eyes pulled the corners of his mouth too far down for him to hold on—
“I love you, Childe.”
The only thing that could match the emotional high of a thrilling fight was that sensation of a weight being lifted from his chest, spilling out with his voice, as he breathed his response:
“I love you, too, comrade… Aether.”
Even supposing Aether had never told him as much, his feelings were evident in the way he clung to Childe as they slept, in how he softly folded his hands on Childe’s chest or caressed his cheek as they kissed, and in how, just recently—the other day, even?—he cast his arms warmly around Childe’s back, pressing the taller man’s face into the crook of his neck as, for the first time in Aether’s presence, Childe cried.
So it was out of care for the Traveler, out of habit, that Childe now perked his ears for the sound of Aether’s voice, calling out that name with which he was so familiar.
It was not the name he expected.
He was still not entirely awake, so he thought he must have misheard.
He listened harder.
“Childe…”
He blinked, the sudden jolt of his heart bringing him back to full consciousness.
Unconscious urgency shook Aether’s voice as he curled up tighter, away from Childe, clinging to the other man sleeping securely in his arms. Childe once again nuzzled into the back of Aether’s head, fending off the night chill that fluttered across his nose and lips.
“Childe—”
A heavy feeling, like the dripping of molten metal, settled into Childe’s chest. The back of his throat suddenly felt strangely dry.
Aether's shoulders trembled.
"Childe—"
"Shhhh. It's okay. I'm here."
Childe brushed his hand through Aether's hair, and then reached down to stroke his side. He pressed his fingers into the soft skin of Aether's abdomen until he felt the warmth of flesh beneath the blanket of cold night air. As Aether's wavering breaths, threatening to shake off his hand, gradually settled, Childe continued to caress him.
He had never stopped to consider how he would feel if the name Aether called in his nightmares was his after all. For the first time, he found himself genuinely wondering exactly what it was that Aether was dreaming about.
Do I want to know?
It took too much effort to think about it.
Childe’s surroundings again devoid of human voices, his eyelids drifted closed once more, and sleep caught up with him.
—
"Childe."
It was the same voice that woke him again.
A few silvery rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon–just enough to foretell the arrival of dawn, and for Childe to make out the silhouette of Aether curled in front of him.
Having rolled over at some point, Aether now buried his face in Childe's chest. His gasps tickled Childe's skin. The sheer speed of his breath snapped Childe to his senses.
"Childe."
"Shhhhh…"
"Childe!"
Aether's voice was not loud—still barely above a whisper—but desperation shook its pitch and made it harsh on Childe's ears. His heart was not left unscathed, either.
"It's all right, comrade." Childe rested a hand on Aether's shoulder and let it fall slowly towards his waist. He hoped the soft touch would provide some reassurance, but once again, the rapid rise and fall of Aether's back made it difficult to maintain. "I'm here."
"Childe…" His voice cracked. "Childe…"
Aether burrowed further into Childe, craning his neck until the tip of his nose pressed into Childe's throat, his half-curled fingers sliding around Childe's side for a habitual pseudo-embrace. Childe felt the vibrations of Aether's voice rumble against his skin almost as if they were his own.
"Comrade, wake up."
Aether gave a defiant shake of his head. The tension in his hands betrayed that he had already awoken some time ago.
"Childe—"
His voice was barely more than a cough now, spitting out the name of his beloved like it was the last thing he would ever get a chance to say.
"Shhhh-shhhhhh…"
Childe firmly cradled Aether's head. His heart gave languid pounds against his ribs as Aether squeaked his name, over and over, Childe's efforts to comfort him apparently in vain. Still, even if he might be wasting his energy, he couldn't make himself stop.
"It's okay, comrade. I'm right here. I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere."
At long last, after many repetitions, it seemed to work. The small of Aether's back retreated from beneath Childe's palm as the air flowed from his lungs in a great sigh; his fingertips digging into Childe's flesh loosened and fell into place on his sides. Aether bowed his head again until he once more nestled comfortably into Childe's chest.
"Childe…"
Now his breath was slow and deliberate, like an apology. Childe's heart settled, and he continued to let his fingers warmly trace the contours of Aether's back.
What he said to Aether then was the same thing he told him all that time ago.
"You were having a bad dream."
Childe only felt Aether's faint nod where his nose rested against his neck. Sobs punctuated Aether's words and shook his shoulders as he spoke.
"I had a dream—that you were going on a mission—to destroy something, and I had no idea if I'd ever see you again."
"It's okay, comrade. I'm here.”
“I thought—maybe you’d never come back.”
Aether’s erratic pulse seemed to resonate with his, leaving the sensation of a lump in Childe’s throat. The words he gave Aether then weren’t platitudes or mindless ramblings, designed merely to placate the Traveler. After all, in every situation, Childe was a man of his word.
“I won't leave you. I'll always come back to you. I promise."
Traveling with Aether, falling in love with him, forced Childe to consider this matter time and again. It was the most thought he had put into any decision he could ever recall making. The solution had certainly been easier, much more convenient, to find when his dedication to his family and to the Fatui went hand in hand. But Aether was an outlander—an unexpected factor. At any moment, orders from above could rule that his very existence was unacceptable. And Childe couldn't bear to lose Aether any more than he could bear to lose his brothers and sisters. So if one day he really was forced to make a choice, where would his loyalty lie?
Early on, Childe had considered that it might someday be necessary to cut his bond with Aether in order to stay his previous course—to continue seeking the strongest possible opponents until he stood at the top of the world. Aether was never oblivious to this potentiality, either; whenever the Fatui happened to become a topic of conversation, he would falter and suddenly begin to stare into space. Childe knew that Aether was trying to hide it by the way he abruptly changed the subject, and Childe, not wanting to bring his family undue concerns, played right along.
However, as shy as he was, Aether was not the weak-willed child he certainly looked like at times—and clearly, Childe was not the only one putting a lot of thought into this predicament. Whenever he felt the slightest doubt start to creep into his chest, like a poison spreading through his blood, Childe recalled what Aether had told him regarding this matter:
“I would never ask you to change who you are for my sake.”
The confidence that rang in Aether’s voice and gleamed in his eyes as he gave Childe those words only made Childe desire even more deeply to stay by his side.
This conviction drove his heart to beat harder whenever Aether repeated what was obviously one of his favorite phrases:
“I trust you.”
It was in these moments that Childe realized that he could always grow stronger for himself and for those he loved.
The power to challenge any rival and win was also, conveniently, the power to eliminate any threat to his family.
Should he ever need to throw away all ties to the Fatui to protect his family, he would do it in a heartbeat—he never got along with those other Harbingers, anyway!—and he would do it using the strength they gave him, just to prove that he could.
Call him selfish, but what was important to him now, above all else, was right in front of him.