My socks stick to my skin with every wincing step. There is the sweat, and then there is the blood, leaking out around the glass shards still embedded in my flesh. I grit my teeth and step onto the first subway for the day. The seats are mostly empty and I take full advantage of that.
The receptionist at the guesthouse is too bleary-eyed to notice anything wrong with me, jabbing a finger in the direction of the elevator when I mention Childe. As soon as the doors open into the fourth floor, I stagger forwards, bracing my hands against the door directly opposite and hoping the occupants didn’t hear my laboured breathing.
Of course, I am spared no such mercy. The door opens, and I catch a glimpse of excitement in Childe’s eyes before his expression morphs into one of concern.
‘Come on. What’s wrong? Something happen to your legs?’
I use his forearms to pull myself back up. ‘I stepped on some glass.’
‘And you walked all the way here without… I can’t.’ With a grunt of effort, he slings my arm over his shoulder and brings me inside. ‘I’ll take care of it.’
The inside of the room is mostly beige, a victim of minimalist interior design. Still, the fact that it looks so lived-in helps to lessen the uncanniness: a mug rests close to the sink, steam rising from its mouth. The kitchen counter holds a bowl with some kind of dough mixture within. The living room is bare apart from the numerous cardboard boxes piled on one side of the couch. Even with my blurring vision, I can tell that everything has been recently dusted.
‘Sit here.’ The room swims before me as Childe sets me down on the couch. I close my eyes, attempting to banish the dark spots clouding my vision. Waking up from a dream that violently… death by proxy… I should have grabbed some painkillers.
When I open my eyes again, Childe is in front of me, brows furrowed, a bottle of antiseptic clutched in his hand and bandages in the other.
‘Where did you get hurt?’
I peel off my socks to show him. He lets out a low whistle, producing a pair of tweezers from his pockets.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ he says, perhaps trying to be reassuring as he turns on the light. ‘Once in this dream, I had to try my best to save a guy who had… well, he didn’t have much skin left after encountering a god.’ He kneels down before me, hesitating for a brief moment before adjusting my ankle and getting to work. ‘But still, this isn’t like you. Are you okay?’
I do not find the strength to lie. He hums sympathetically. A sharp instance of pain, and he is dropping the first glass shard into his hand.
‘What did you call me here for?’ I hate how weak I sound.
‘We’re going to be heading into that dream sooner or later.’ He dabs at my wound with a piece of cotton, the antiseptic a pleasant sting. ‘I have some… measures in place. Make the whole process safer. Slightly.’ He rips off a strip of surgical tape and holds up the bandage, frowning.
‘You don’t need to go, though. Not like this.’
When he gets to work, wrapping the bandage around my foot, I find my voice. ‘Please.’
He looks up, surprised. I pry my foot from his grip and lean forward, hands outstretched, hesitating.
A slight flush reaches his cheeks, and I cup his face in my hands as if to hide the colour. For a while we stay there, me with my trembling hands, his breathing growing more and more shallow before he finally snaps out of it, turning away to stare listlessly at a lamp.
‘I need to see this to the end,’ I say.
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
‘I trust you will keep me safe.’
He doesn’t meet my eyes after that, mumbling something about finding a new pair of socks. I sink back into the couch, thinking through the fog in my mind.
He won’t hesitate to kill Morax, of that I am sure. The thrill of the chase already has its claws deep in him. The problem will be retrieving my memories of her without him noticing. Despite Childe’s depthless devotion, I have a feeling he will not take kindly to dishonesty. Perhaps I can deepen the lie, tell him about retrieving parts for research… but he will be able to recognise what I am doing. Perhaps, he will recognise what I am as soon as we step foot in the dream.
The room swims before me. I hear Childe saying something, apologising for making me come here so early. Something soft is shoved under my head, and my consciousness begins to slip as soon as I lie down.
There are no dreams, not this time.
~~~
I wake up to the smell of something baking. Childe notices and brings me to his kitchen table, where he passes me a plate filled with something akin to pancakes—blinis, Childe explains when I ask. It’s good, and he lets me eat in silence as he cleans the kitchen, sneaking glances at me when he thinks I’m not looking.
‘I miss making these for my family,’ he says, perhaps mistaking my gaze as an inquiry. ‘I haven’t been home in… what, a year?’
‘You could go home as soon as this is all over.’
He shakes his head. ‘I have—I have things to do. Can’t go yet.’ His voice is suddenly too high. ‘But those boxes—’ He waves a spatula in the direction of the living room. ‘I’m hoping the gifts are enough to tide them over.’
The sun is shining through the windows, its brightness indicative of exactly how cold it is getting outside. Childe sets down his sponge and looks in my general direction.
‘About the orchestra,’ he begins. ‘I thought you were going to perform next week?’
To be honest, I had forgotten. I should tell the conductor, say I haven’t been doing well and hope the rest of my section can carry on without me. But that can wait.
Childe shrugs off my lack of an answer and goes back to cleaning.
‘You said you wanted to see this through to the end,’ he says when I put down my fork. ‘Are you sure, then, of the culprit?’
More than ever. I keep up the ruse. ‘The dragon I saw… it tried to kill me. Rex Lapis or no, I wish to see justice befall it.’
‘Never took you for one to take matters into your own hands. You’re full of surprises. Ah, well. Suits me… I mean, I needed to investigate dreams as well.’
The twitching of his hands, the wildness in his eyes betrays his words. I remember what he said to me after bringing me the body of that unfortunate man. The blood on my hands feels more real than anything else. My family found me a place I could put myself to use.
There is no hiding it, not from me. No matter how hard he tries.
‘Alright, then,’ says Childe, rolling up his drenched sleeves. ‘I’ll show you the ropes.’
He guides me to the couch, gestures for me to sit down. I am about to ask when he kneels down in front of me, tentatively holding my hands.
‘Close your eyes,’ he tells me. ‘Leave the rest to me. And… stay calm. No matter what you might see or hear. Are you ready?’
I make sure not to nod too soon. On his cue, he says.
I close my eyes, and he laces his fingers through mine. His skin is cold, and I feel it begin to turn to ice as my head begins to spin. Childe is muttering something, hurried, panicked. I know that something is wrong a moment before he hisses, letting me go as if stung.
I open my eyes, barely catching a glimpse of his wide-open eyes before darkness clouds my eyes.
~~~
I wake up in the snow once more. The biting wind is back, an exact copy of the environment I had landed in last time. Only this time, there is an additional sound.
‘My lord!’
Xiao’s voice is hoarse as he drags himself out of a snowdrift, panting, before exhaustion finally gets the better of him. He sits in front of me, shoulders heaving with each breath, barely holding his head upright.
‘How long have you been here for?’
He shakes his head, still trying to catch his breath. I should have responded to his texts, I realise.
‘You weren’t—I lost you,’ he finally gasps out, so faint above the sound of the wind. ‘I thought you—I thought you were—stranded. It’s good to—’
He collapses face-first into the snow. Half-buried in white, he looks smaller than I have ever seen him. I kneel down next to him, placing two fingers on his neck. He’s alive, but so, so cold.
‘You’ve done so well.’ He can’t hear me, but I whisper it into his ear nonetheless. ‘I’ll send you home.’
I let go of him, letting him rest atop the snow. His breathing is deep and slow, as if asleep. I watch as he sinks into the snow, his slight body disappearing from view. He will return home soon, safe and sound, and out of the way for now. May he, too, sleep without dreams, if only for a while.
I know what to do this time. The desolate snow plains still see no end, but I keep walking anyway, straining my ears for the tell-tale creaking of icebergs.
Instead, I see something first.
Through the blizzard, red scarf flowing behind him like a ribbon, is a familiar figure. I try to remember what Childe was wearing when we entered the dream. The only detail I can recall is the conspicuous lack of a scarf, and the neat suit the figure now wears. Had he picked one up without me seeing? Or is this him, from another time?
He approaches, speeding up when he sees me, fleet-footed over the snow. He is holding something in his off hand, a thin sword clutched in the other. The blizzard stutters, then stops. I allow myself to stop and catch my breath.
‘Zhongli,’ he is saying, his voice carrying over the featureless plains. The bundle he is dragging along looks heavy enough to give him a strange gait.
Then I look down, at the red trails in the snow below his sword, below the bundle. Childe catches me looking and attempts to lean casually against the hilt of his sword, but my attention is focused on the bundle.
Around its neck, the very same red scarf. It—he—is so small, a mop of ginger hair atop his lopsided head. The grey winter coat, the bright knitted mittens, all covered in the same crimson of Childe’s sword.
I look up, attempting to keep my face impassive. Childe sees through it, naturally, heaving a deep sigh and raising his gaze to meet mine. I resist the urge to turn away from the shadows that lurk in them.
‘It’s about time,’ he says. ‘I should explain.’
i have 25k more words for them and it only gets worse
TMA fans this one's for you. childe is definitely a hunt entity btw