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Summary
Saying he misses Childe is an understatement — hell, even the word understatement is an understatement.
Wanderer bites down hard on his tongue and straightens the stack of sheets in his grasp, stiffly poking the edges into rigid compliance and setting them in a perfectly straightened stack besides him, drawing a sharp lacquer pen from the pillowy interior of his sleeve and idly swinging it tightly between his fingers.He hates the way he does. He absolutely despises it. If anything, if he had a heart that would keep betraying him like this he’d find bittersweet beauty in the concept of something delving into the cavity of his chest and tearing it to shreds right in front of his own gaze just so he won’t have to deal with the agonising murmurs of what “missing” feels like. His own sentimentality… it almost disgusts him.
In which the corruption of Irminsul slowly starts to rejuvenate everyone’s memories, and Wanderer finds himself back in Childe’s arms in the last way he could’ve hoped for.
or a chiscara coded retelling of the 6.6 archon quest