Zhongli doesn’t need sleep but in the presence of Childe, he finds himself craving it.
There is comfort in their bed, tendrils of softness that Zhongli never thought he’d find, or even want. Retirement has brought him more questions than not when it comes to the mortal equation—not that he’s entirely mortal.
But Childe is warmth inherent, and Zhongli finds himself drawn to his heated embrace.
And so, he sleeps, dozing in soft, silk sheets, Childe curled against his side. Or back, or chest—one thousand different configurations, each of them perfect.
And so, he sleeps, dozing in soft, silk sheets, Childe curled against his side. Or back, or chest—one thousand different configurations, each of them perfect.
Zhongli slips deep, losing himself to his exhaustion. The scent of Childe permeates their bed. The quiet lull of his breathing, and the rise and fall of his chest.
Childe does not sleep well. He sleeps better with Zhongli beside him, but he’s still plagued by the past that haunts him.
Zhongli has watched him deep into the night, many times, counting each exhale to settle his old bones until his own eyes droop, and eventually close.
Zhongli has watched him deep into the night, many times, counting each exhale to settle his old bones until his own eyes droop, and eventually close.
This night is like many. The candles are lit, casting the room in a dull orange glow. Zhongli faces away from Childe, sweat-slicked in the sheets, a little overheated. Childe’s back is to his, the barest, grounding touch.
Zhongli dreams of the old days, of long-gone friends, and the tides of war; bittersweet things he’ll never be without because even in retirement he cannot run from his past.
Childe jerks, and then he whines, a pitiful sound that bubbles up from his throat.
Childe jerks, and then he whines, a pitiful sound that bubbles up from his throat.
Zhongli immediately starts, hyper-aware. He hears the change of Childe’s breathing, the way his chest heaves rapidly. How his scent turns from sweet to sour as he writhes in the sheets. “Ajax,” he murmurs, reaching back blindly as he rouses himself.
Then he turns over and plasters himself against Childe’s backside. “Ajax,” he says again into Childe’s nape, burying his nose into the fine baby hairs there.
Childe is still asleep, whimpering softly, fingers pulling at the sheets. He tosses and twitches. He moans softly. His brow creases and sweat clings to it. And then he gasps, eyes flying open as he reaches out to fend off whatever he dreams of.
Zhongli drags a hand down his side and slips it just underneath the hem of his shirt. “Shh,” he soothes, rubbing circles against Childe’s stomach.
“Zhongli—”
“Ajax—”
“Zhongli—”
“Ajax—”
“𝘡𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪—”
“I’m right here.” Childe settles slightly, pressing back against Zhongli’s chest. “Just breathe,” says Zhongli, his hand rising to lay flat against his sternum.
“I’m right here.” Childe settles slightly, pressing back against Zhongli’s chest. “Just breathe,” says Zhongli, his hand rising to lay flat against his sternum.
Childe does just that, sucking a breath in through his nose and loosing it through his mouth. Over and over, again and again. All the while Zhongli holds him close, muttering soft words against him, and pressing soft kisses into his skin.
He can feel the rapid-fire beat of Childe’s heart against his hand. The way that his body wracks with shivers as he tries to calm himself. Zhongli is patient, letting Childe take his time.
Finally, Childe goes slack, his breathing more even. “I’m—” he starts, his voice cutting through the quietness of their room. But then he stops, unable to find his words.
Zhongli has never asked, but he isn’t a fool. He knows the acrid smell of the Abyss when he smells it, and sometimes it coats Childe’s skin so thickly that he can taste it in the air.
He just hums softly, petting his skin, combing through his hair, and doing his best to provide a distraction.
Even he is haunted by demons. Zhongli knows what this is like, intimately, and so, he does his best to make sure that Childe isn’t entirely haunted by his demons.
Childe clings to his arm, fingernails digging in. He keeps breathing, keeps counting those stuttering seconds as Zhongli whispers, “Yes, just like that. In and out.”
He will fall back asleep, but it will be panicked and hair-trigger.
He will fall back asleep, but it will be panicked and hair-trigger.
But, Zhongli will be there to worry and fuss, reminding him that this is now and that he’s safe. Childe doesn’t need his protection, but Zhongli will give it regardless. He’ll smooth out those harsh edges and blunt corners, and he’ll drag Childe right back into blissful peace.
“Darling,” he says. Zhongli inhales deeply, drowning in Childe’s scent. That’s what grounds 𝘩𝘪𝘮. This is what brings him back from the brink of his erosion, that soft smell of ocean salt, and the weight of Childe’s body pulled close to him.
“I love you.” Childes voice is miniscule, buried by the thick blanket.
Zhongli sighs softly, contently. Childe doesn’t quite realize the depth of what he feels, so he says, “And I, you.”
Zhongli sighs softly, contently. Childe doesn’t quite realize the depth of what he feels, so he says, “And I, you.”
It’s perfect for this moment, saying it so simply. And Zhongli does love, fully and fervently. It’s all he thinks of as he tangles their legs together and pets through Childe’s hair.
“Yeah,” says Childe, his voice dropping sleepily. “Yeah, I know.”
Zhongli falls asleep too, unable to tell where Childe begins and ends.
[ THE END ]
Zhongli falls asleep too, unable to tell where Childe begins and ends.
[ THE END ]
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