As The Sun Gazes Upon The Moon [Zhongchili]

Chapter 5 - Aftermath

Author's Note: I'm updating a couple of the warnings on the title page for this fic. Be sure to check them if there are any sensitive themes you need to avoid.

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The door to Childe's room opens and Zhongli stands from the chair in which he's spent the night replaying the events of the battle. The Tsaritsa slips around it, her gown flowing after her, the dark circles of her under eyes stark against her complexion.

"You are still here," she says.

"Please, may I see him?"

The Tsaritsa looks him up and down, then nods. "He has been cleared to receive visitors. But please be aware that while his condition is stable, he is not looking his best. Do not be shocked by his appearance."

Zhongli nods. "Understood, but I find there are worse things than to set one's eyes upon than a friend in recovery."

"This we both understand." She pauses, her mouth opening and closing once, then sighs. "If he were awake, I am certain he would thank you for assisting him today. So allow me to bestow my thanks on Tartaglia's behalf. You have done Snezhnaya a great service."

"Your gratitude is appreciated, but it is never a burden to assist a friend."

The corner of the Tsaritsa's mouth twitches, but if she finds amusement in Zhongli's statement, she doesn't voice it. "Go, see the boy," she says. "He is waiting."

Zhongli delays no longer and, after bidding the Tsaritsa a brief farewell, he pushes open the door to Childe's quarters.

While another day he might have paused to admire the finer points of the decor, the figure tucked under the covers of the king size bed on the far side of the room immediately captures Zhongli's attention. Childe's eyes are closed and his face tilts toward the window overlooking the bed, the dawn light highlighting the paleness of his sun-starved features.

"Childe..." Zhongli crosses the room and crouches at the bedside, the last of the midnight candle flickering forlornly from the bedside table.

Compared to the Childe that Zhongli met a few weeks ago, his cheeks have lost their sun-kissed glow and his freckles have dimmed to faint constellations, barely visible without the warmer climate teasing them out to play under the sun. While Childe was always lean, now his cheeks dip distinctly inward, and his collar bone sticks out from beneath the simple white nightshirt he's been dressed in. The Abyss is hardly a place of abundance, and now Childe is paying the price for months of enduring its harrowing conditions.

Childe lays with his arms over the covers, a drip feeding a clear liquid into him via his arm, and the exposed areas of his skin are mottled purple and blue of varying intensity. Even his fingers are a greyish purple, darker still at the tips, the skin dry and leathery.

"I am so sorry," murmurs Zhongli, although it is clear that the wound he inflicted is but a small contributor to Childe's condition. "If I had known a way to aid you without harming you, I would have done so without hesitation."

Childe's brow shifts in his sleep and he turns his head to face Zhongli, breathing out a long, incomprehensible syllable that comes out as a pained groan.

However, the sound itself is the least concerning part.

Childe reeks of the Abyss. It carries on his breath, an awful scent of death and decay that turns Zhongli's stomach. Zhongli doesn't recoil, instead edging closer. Even if Childe doesn't know Zhongli is here, he does not deserve to be alone.

"Perhaps I should speak more," ponders Zhongli, without the expectation of any response. "You did always seem to enjoy hearing a tale or two. Would that assist in your recovery, or simply make you more comfortable, to know another wishes you well?"