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“Darling love,” Zhongli murmurs, placing a hand on Childe’s knee, and his scent curls around them, thick and comforting. “It is late. You’ve been sitting here for hours. Would you like to come to bed?”
“Oh.” Childe blinks. Indeed, it has grown darker, and the snow outside falls thicker, consuming the world beyond with its blinding veil. “I’m sorry. Time got away from me,” he says, and Zhongli smiles fondly at him.
“That’s okay, baobei. Take as much time as you need.”
Zhongli and Childe make their yearly trip to Childe’s childhood house, to honor the memories and ghosts it holds.