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Summary
“Xiansheng,” Childe says, and although his voice is soft, it cracks Zhongli’s soul, sending shards spinning in the light. “It’s always been you who hasn’t wanted—more. This is…” He blows out a breath, and it washes over Zhongli, warm and lulling. “Are you still rational?”
“Yes.” Faint. He prepares for his heart to shatter, for Childe to deliver the final blow.
“Do you want me to leave? Truly?”
Distress claws at him, sinking squalid claws into the soft part of his soul, and before he can fully process his own movements, Childe’s wrist is trapped under his hand, and his claws—oh, his claws—dig into soft flesh.
Childe helps Zhongli through a heat.