He stood by the window, where the moon lay behind shifting clouds and the steady curtain of rain. His amber gaze lingered on the glass, watching droplets trace ephemeral paths down its surface - fine threads weaving their way to the edge. On occasion, two would meet, merge, and continue on as one, their journey altered yet aligned. Strange, he mused, how even the most fleeting of things - raindrops born of storm and sky - can find unity, carving a singular path none but they may tread together.
Not unlike the two of them, in some ways. Even the rain understood what it meant to converge; to share a path, if only briefly. A sound drew his attention, faint yet distinct. Not the idle murmurs of one lost in peaceful dreams, but something strained. Troubled. His steps were measured and silent, hardly stirring the air as he crossed the room.
His eyes fell upon the harbinger, noticing how his brow was taut, expression marred by some unseen torment. This was no mere nightmare. No fleeting phantom of the mind could evoke such tension in his features. The sounds he uttered were incoherent, yet laden with weight; words spoken not with voice alone, but from some deeper, fractured place. Zhongli knelt beside him, reaching with practiced care. Ginger strands clung to his dampened forehead, and Zhongli brushed them aside with gentleness. His voice, when it came, was low and steady, a quiet anchor. “You are far from whatever battlefield holds you now,” he murmured, not to wake but to ground. His fingers threaded through his hair, a slow, soothing motion. Be at ease, he thought, his presence offered not as a shield, but as a shelter - quiet, constant, and resolute.
It was becoming more commonplace. The coming and going. Dealings with the bank and dealings... else wise. A search he'd been tasked with that seemed hopeless. It kept him coming back to Liyue more often than not; be it for resources or simply in search of a friendly gaze as his own shoulders had gradually become lowered, downtrodden. The line of his shoulders didn't break so easily, but cracks and crevices over time lead to the inevitable crash: be it in the comfort of linen or stealing a hilichurl hut for the night through less than friendly means, all done with a near to manic grin twisting his lips. Still, when he stepped foot into the Harbor, it was becoming more commonplace, to take solace in the warmth of a shared bed rather than slipping into the shadow of solitude at the Wangshu Inn.
He had not seen a golden smile accompanied by fluttering fairy typically in fits in many, many days. Weeks? He couldn't be sure, as time slipped from his fingers like fine grains of sand, swept away by the wind. When had he last rested? Truly rested? The question bore a heavy weight over his mind, his body. Bruises accumulating, he'd come to Liyue bearing bandaging over his forearms with blood that had already dried over; still offering the faintest tang of iron if one bothered to look at them for too long. And, with practiced ease, he allowed the inevitable crash.
The rain had soaked him through and through; demanded that he strip himself of sodden wet clothe and armor with dew drops slipping over the sleek shine of familiar silver. It all lay by the wayside, without a thought held for its account. All that had mattered was the cup of tea on the bedside, the hands that had brewed it; the words given in some hint of chastisement were like a balm to his soul, at the time. And so, under the hush of a gently falling rain, the ache of his muscles had finally pulled him into sleep.
Sleep, yes. But not the rest he so desperately wished for.
If he had once been weighed down by nothing more than twelve thousand steps, the tension returned to snap his muscles back into fitful sleep; a darkness behind the eyes, trapped within the mind, far too familiar. It presses in from all corners and, in the utter silence, his heart kicks up; because the silence always comes first, he knows. He's been here before, pulse beating with the frantic heartbeat of a terrified child. The silence sits, as if air itself dare not move in the space around him.
Childe already knows it's too late. He will be swallowed by it; mind, body, soul. The strain of his muscle, nor the blood on his blade can push back the tide. Not forever.
Within this there is a touch, both unassuming and unexpected; it startles him out of sleep, jerking upright, breaths quick but quiet. Blue eyes flit about the room, taking in every corner, table, candle: tension in his body noted even in the way his fingers curl tightly in the sheets at either side of his hips, tendons flexing. Sweat drips from his temple to slip down; over his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw, the lines of a slender neck. It settles over his collarbone as his eyes finally lock onto Zhongli; amber eyes shadowed by the ridge of his brow. Childe swallows, but the strain of his shoulders, doesn't dissipate. "You—" His heart throbs in his ears, quick as a hare's feet. Childe bites down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He doesn't have anything to say.
Instead, he pushes the sheets from his hips, slips out from under them with a swift kick of his legs so they can swing over the side of the bed. He grips the edge of the mattress, nails digging into the linen as he stares blankly at the floor before his eyes. The room is cast in moonlight, he realizes. He has no idea what time it is. The bolt of his jaw ticks.