Childe detaches his arm for the third time that morning, claiming he had fixed it wrong once more.
‘It does not look out of the ordinary to me,’ says Zhongli.
Childe snorts. ‘You wouldn’t know. I’m the one in this body.’
Silver blood pools at his feet as Childe reattaches the arm, taking note of its orientation. He had tried to fix it by taking advantage of the malleable nature of his new body once, but that had resulted in two more disproportionate limbs.
A human soul in a silver tear. His mother could hang him for his blasphemy. Or she would if she wasn’t missing.
Still, if there is anything he can agree with his siblings on, it is that blasphemy does have its allure.
He has forgotten how beautiful Childe is, his hair lit on fire in the dawn sun, eyes half-lidded as he flexes his fingers. Zhongli is still not used to seeing him without his armour. His old armour, burned and melted as it was, had to be left behind. A shame, really; he had been majestic in it.
Though, the fact that he is now wearing a set of Zhongli’s old robes is a suitable compromise.
Lost in thought as he is, he doesn’t hear Childe cough until the man taps him on the shoulder.
‘Aren’t you going to ask?’
‘Hm?’
‘I can hear you think. Are you looking at me?’
Zhongli’s gaze flicks involuntarily to Childe’s eyes. Not the blue that he remembers, but a bright silver. Eyes are difficult to recreate, and Childe is still working out the kinks, forcing his new body to cooperate. Sclera, pupil, retinas. Still imprecise, and for the most part sightless.
But just enough for him to land a hit on Zhongli’s shoulder with his swords when they trained together the night before.
Zhongli says, ‘My thoughts are not particularly important. Come. Let us keep going.’
Childe snorts.
They should get their hands on some horses soon, Zhongli thinks, the morning dew beginning to soak through his shoes. They had no chance of making it across Liurnia on foot alone, let alone the regions further north.
Childe had gotten into his head that his family had survived against all odds, and they had made it up north, to Elphael. Zhongli, not wishing to dash his hopes too soon, had come along, hoping to offer his support when the truth inevitably came crashing down. He had remained unconvinced, until Childe brought him back to the stone hut, opening the trapdoor once more.
‘I missed it the first time,’ he had said, holding up a tree branch. Zhongli recognised the incantation: gold, but not of the Erdtree. ‘This wasn’t here when my father first sealed the trapdoor.’
Zhongli still holds his breath when Childe turns the branch over in his hands, muttering a prayer to himself for hope and for strength. He had never met the Empyrean Miquella, one of his youngest siblings, but his instincts are telling him to run and never look back.
All the more reason to stick by Childe as he makes his pilgrimage.
The branch is in Childe’s hands once more. He slows down, hands clasped, lips moving soundlessly. Zhongli stands next to him, watching the way the sunlight glances off his hair, the way his skin almost glows. He is alive, and he is beautiful.
Zhongli reaches out, tracing the back of Childe’s hands with his fingertips. Childe’s eyes snap open, alert, but his gaze softens soon enough.
‘Oh, Morax,’ he says, tone soft. ‘I am here. I am right here.’
And that is as good as permission.
Zhongli intertwines his fingers through Childe’s, eyes closed, and presses a kiss to his cheek.
this took me some time to plan and write and (somewhat) edit and i'm glad the brain worms are out now. honestly i am considering writing a continuation where zhongli meets childe's family (with all the angst that comes from that. plus malenia + childe parallels). but arlefuri calls and GOD they are hard to write. i should watch nbc hannibal to get an idea of the mindgames they'd play