After returning with the other Zenites who were pursuing Manon, it had not been difficult to spot Childe in the chaos. That unnatural warping of electro energy grated on his senses like nails on a chalkboard even without his natural attunement to the earth. The stench of blood assaulting him soon followed, sparking a breathless dread deep within him. He'd been overprotective (unhealthily so) over the last remaining children of Teyvat. The loss of Rosaria was already a blow that he was taking much too personally, but to also lose Childe... To lose Childe -- the only one who could reminisce on how a certain tea reminded him of Liyue. The only one who stepped out of his boots at the entryway because he knew how Zhongli did not allow shoes inside (Childe's own) house. The only one who knew Zhongli (not Morax. Not Rex Lapis). He could not lose Childe.
But Zhongli finds Childe alive, covered in blood that he quickly comes to the conclusion is mostly not his own, eyes burning an ugly violet. He finds Childe and silently takes him home (or follows him home - he does not know nor care about the distinction). Time distorts messily after that. He recalls the slam of the door, steady hands petting the top of the cat's tiny head in a motion that soothes himself more than the pet itself, and eyes uselessly reading the same line over and over again as the noises from upstairs slowly quiet over time.
Later that night, Zhongli does not need to be awoken by the cat because he has not slept - eventually succumbing to lying on the couch, coat draped over the back as he watched the tiny cat curl up and drift to sleep. At first, he does nothing but try to calm the distressed creature with more soothing strokes even as the black viscous ink-like substance tugs at the very edge of his vision. If this is discord, Childe would not want anyone to see him in such a vulnerable state. Once the worst had passed, perhaps he could---
Disgust. Pain.
Feelings that are not his own roil over him just like the angry remnants of old gods that could not die, trapped in their own vicious cycles of hate and loathing. It brings Zhongli to his feet immediately, making his way up the stairs while trying to touch the black ichor on the stairs as little as possible. It squelches uncomfortably beneath his feet unavoidably as he approaches the door to Childe's room. ]
Childe.
[ The door does not open. In fact, when he rattles the handle, it feels like there is something forcing it shut. He thinks he might even hear Childe, but the words do not quite register - distant and echoed like he is holding a starconch up to one ear. Something stirs deep in Zhongli's gut - a feeling he has not felt in a long time even considering everything that has happened since they arrived in Kenos.
Panic. ]
Childe. I am com---
[ The arm (if it could be called an arm) passes close enough that Zhongli feels the displacement of air across his temple as it digs into to the wall behind him. For a few more seconds that seem to stretch for minutes, he stands there frozen - waiting to see there will be another. He doesn't like this (he admits to himself for maybe the first time), being mortal like this in these situations. Knowing that the strength that he once had could be of no use to either himself or Childe. But that would be addressed later, under a proper contract and proper negotiations. It would not be a reaction he made under duress. It could not. There was too much at stake for something so careless.
Gloved hands press against the edges of the opening, bending the wood just a little farther so Zhongli could slip inside. He was not dexterous by any means, but he manages to stumble through the hole in the door to end up on the other side. And then wide panicked golden eyes are looking for where Childe is, holding his breath unconsciously in subtle fear (not for himself, or not only for himself, but for Childe) of what exactly he might find. ]
no subject
After returning with the other Zenites who were pursuing Manon, it had not been difficult to spot Childe in the chaos. That unnatural warping of electro energy grated on his senses like nails on a chalkboard even without his natural attunement to the earth. The stench of blood assaulting him soon followed, sparking a breathless dread deep within him. He'd been overprotective (unhealthily so) over the last remaining children of Teyvat. The loss of Rosaria was already a blow that he was taking much too personally, but to also lose Childe... To lose Childe -- the only one who could reminisce on how a certain tea reminded him of Liyue. The only one who stepped out of his boots at the entryway because he knew how Zhongli did not allow shoes inside (Childe's own) house. The only one who knew Zhongli (not Morax. Not Rex Lapis). He could not lose Childe.
But Zhongli finds Childe alive, covered in blood that he quickly comes to the conclusion is mostly not his own, eyes burning an ugly violet. He finds Childe and silently takes him home (or follows him home - he does not know nor care about the distinction). Time distorts messily after that. He recalls the slam of the door, steady hands petting the top of the cat's tiny head in a motion that soothes himself more than the pet itself, and eyes uselessly reading the same line over and over again as the noises from upstairs slowly quiet over time.
Later that night, Zhongli does not need to be awoken by the cat because he has not slept - eventually succumbing to lying on the couch, coat draped over the back as he watched the tiny cat curl up and drift to sleep. At first, he does nothing but try to calm the distressed creature with more soothing strokes even as the black viscous ink-like substance tugs at the very edge of his vision. If this is discord, Childe would not want anyone to see him in such a vulnerable state. Once the worst had passed, perhaps he could---
Disgust. Pain.
Feelings that are not his own roil over him just like the angry remnants of old gods that could not die, trapped in their own vicious cycles of hate and loathing. It brings Zhongli to his feet immediately, making his way up the stairs while trying to touch the black ichor on the stairs as little as possible. It squelches uncomfortably beneath his feet unavoidably as he approaches the door to Childe's room. ]
Childe.
[ The door does not open. In fact, when he rattles the handle, it feels like there is something forcing it shut. He thinks he might even hear Childe, but the words do not quite register - distant and echoed like he is holding a starconch up to one ear. Something stirs deep in Zhongli's gut - a feeling he has not felt in a long time even considering everything that has happened since they arrived in Kenos.
Panic. ]
Childe. I am com---
[ The arm (if it could be called an arm) passes close enough that Zhongli feels the displacement of air across his temple as it digs into to the wall behind him. For a few more seconds that seem to stretch for minutes, he stands there frozen - waiting to see there will be another. He doesn't like this (he admits to himself for maybe the first time), being mortal like this in these situations. Knowing that the strength that he once had could be of no use to either himself or Childe. But that would be addressed later, under a proper contract and proper negotiations. It would not be a reaction he made under duress. It could not. There was too much at stake for something so careless.
Gloved hands press against the edges of the opening, bending the wood just a little farther so Zhongli could slip inside. He was not dexterous by any means, but he manages to stumble through the hole in the door to end up on the other side. And then wide panicked golden eyes are looking for where Childe is, holding his breath unconsciously in subtle fear (not for himself, or not only for himself, but for Childe) of what exactly he might find. ]