Chapter Text
The woods creak, rustling in the wind and weighed down with heavy snowfall. The sound echoes in a sea of white, near deafening in the oppressive silence. Childe hears his own heart. The blood that pulses steadily past his ears with the thin exhalation of a breath in a puff of smoke.
The snow flecks across his face, barely nestled in the wrap of a scarf tied around his neck. It gathers on his eyelashes, wet and freezing. By now, he’s accustomed to it- the severe conditions of the Snezhnayan wilderness, and with the promise of good food, he cannot dare to miss.
The string of his bow is pulled taut to his cheek.
If only he was a better archer. Hindsight, truly. It makes Childe groan now, thinking the benefit he’d reap if he’d picked up training when he was younger. But, no.
Swords and spears are flashy and brutal. Archery is measured and precise. All the antithesis to himself, especially in his youth. That brashness is what got him into this situation in the first place.
Childe waits. The stag ten yards ahead nuzzles into the snow for some moss.
It would set him for weeks.
The tension snaps with a sudden pluck. His arrow is loosened from the bow.
It hits with a squeal. Childe grimaces. His mark is off. It’s not lethal.
Shit.
“Fuck-!” Childe curses with a hiss, as he fumbles with his pack, slinging it over his shoulders along with his bow. He bolts after the deer when it delves deeper into the forest. Its tracks are clear. Unsteady and startled, it leaves a trail of blood spilled across the snow in its wake.
The blood makes his eyes widen. It’s an electric feel that shoots up his fingertips and through his limbs. Childe shakes his head. It’s not the time. The gasp caught on his tongue feels like cotton balls stuffed down his throat.
He grits his teeth and bears it. Childe manages to track the deer for the next half hour. His moment of stumbling had cost him precious time, and a deer is undoubtedly much quicker than Childe lumbering through the wilderness in bulky, awkward snowshoes.
What a joke.
He’s much too far from his sled, left tied to a tree next to the river’s edge. He walked several hours to get here, in hopes of a better hunting ground that the lands nearby his home. But some good it will do him if he gets lost and freezes to death out here. Ha. What a lame way to go after all he’s been through.
The snow is starting to pick up. The clouds overhead swirl uneasily with the hint of an oncoming winter storm. This whole trip is a bust. A waste of time and energy, and Childe is still stuck eating potatoes and fish for a whole week.
Ugh.
Childe is singularly focused that he doesn’t notice the obstacle in his way until he’s tripped over it. His snowshoe lodges awkwardly in a suspiciously solid drift, and he falls over with a huff, face first into the snow.
“Ack-“ Childe sputters, and tries to dig himself out from where he’s fallen knee deep. “What the-“
Did he hit some root? No, the trees here don’t grow like that. Some rock? Childe swears it moves from where he has kicked it.
He drags himself out. The icy snow starts to melt into his clothes from his body heat. Leaving him both wet and freezing. His attention is elsewhere, drawn to something that sticks out from the fresh snowfall.
Wait-
Is that a person?
Childe grumbles yet again. Worst hunting trip ever. The tracks are long since gone now. He doesn’t have a chance in hell to catch up.
Fine.
It seems these are the cards Celestia handed him today. Cruel and teasing as they may be.
Childe expects a corpse, and he is notably incorrect on that front. The man he spends twenty minutes digging out of the snow. Is somehow, still alive.
It’s strange.
This man… Childe has him pulled across his lap. His body is freezing, and snow clings wet to his clothes and hair.
There is so much wrong.
An assassin? Did the Cryo Archon finally decide he merited the effort? No, it can’t be. What would-be assassin would come this blatantly unprepared. If his former god had any interest in his life, surely, she would not underestimate him so to send out an amateur.
Second, and a glaringly obvious fact- the man is not Snezhnayan. What person with a death wish would travel all the way out here without already being one of the crazy people that inhabit it? It’s masochistic, downright insane. Yet, this man-
He’s beautiful. Perhaps, Childe has been alone for too long. Or, perhaps, there’s something soft in that frozen expression against his even icier skin. It’s barely flushed. His breaths come out in shallow puffs against Childe’s palm.
His clothes are ruined. Atrocious for this weather, his boots soaked through and pretty much destroyed. Despite all the outward damage, there doesn’t seem to be any to his actual body. No frostbite, no chafing from the cold.
He’s peaceful as if asleep. It sounds like something out of a fairytale. Childe could laugh. He’s not waking him up with a kiss, no matter how desperate he may be.
Childe adjusts himself to carry the man back to his sled. Well, it looks like he’s not going home empty handed, but he expected to drag a deer carcass back home not some strange unconscious man he found out in the wilderness.
It feels like hours. Hours deep in the backwoods, pulling his sled back home. It is a relief when he finally makes it back. The cabin is warm. A fire burns, flickering hot in the stove. He strips the man of his soaked and frozen clothes, and instead fits him in some of his own. The size is a little off. Childe’s a little taller, a little lankier than this hard rock of a man.
Some merchant or diplomat he’d make, with the physique of a fighter. Even more curious, is the golden amber vision tied to his jacket that he sets carefully down.
A vision bearer? The situation continues to confound him.
Childe wrings out his own clothes, staring at the stranger he dressed in his own lying on his bed.
What’s he supposed to do now? Wait around?
The coffee he sips is hot to the core and watered down. He has to make it last the season. It’s been about two months since he last set foot in town. He picked up the last of the ‘necessities’ from Ivan. It has also been an entire two months since he last saw another person.
Perhaps, that’s why.
He’s never considered himself a saint. Ha, with his history that would be a joke. But really, he’s never considered himself a nice guy. Not the type to be out rescuing strangers in the woods.
But he’s also a terribly social creature, and being cooped up here, although necessary, can be a bit… oppressive.
(Boring.)
(Lonely.)
He looks down at the man. His features are pretty. Refined. His fingers brush through dark bangs, still damp and plastered to his forehead. He doesn’t budge. His skin is a clammy cold despite Childe’s attempts to raise it. Piles of blankets are tucked around him, and yet, he just sleeps soundly.
Childe sighs. His weight pushes into the edge of the bed.
“Who are you?”
He asks to the air.
It’s a few hours of trepidation and creeping exhaustion before Childe caves. He crawls into his now shared bed and goes to sleep, hoping come morning there is no literal knife plunged in his chest.
Childe has the immaculate ability to sleep anywhere and to also sleep like the dead. He blames it on having a large family, too many people crammed into such a small house. As a child, he shared a room with his two brothers. He grew accustomed to the sounds of snoring, laughing, fighting. He was as much a cause of it as he was subjected to it.
Now, he’s used to the quiet. The absence of sound that buries him just like the earth outside. Only this morning, the house he lives in is not silent as the beginnings of consciousness start to stir within him. And Childe comes to the realization that, for once, he is not alone.
In his house. In the middle of the woods. Miles away from any living, breathing human; or so, he thought.
Childe blinks, blurry and confused.
“Ah, you are awake.”
Huh?
Anxiety tapers at his vision. There is a certain edge when adrenaline shoots through his body at the sight of the unfamiliar figure, leaning at the edge of his bed. His voice catches in his throat, and his reaction is more like an animal cornered than of a former Harbinger.
“Eh?!” Childe stumbles back and hits his head on the shelf above. Several books fall over his lap in a loud thunk.
It rushes back to him. What happened yesterday. Why he is not alone, and it makes Childe feel utterly foolish. Embarrassment burns across his cheeks. The man blinks at him, eyes wide and curious. They are measured with the same hesitation that marred him upon bringing a stranger into his home. And yet-
This man. This handsome man Childe does not know who sits at the edge of his bed in one of his own shirts laughs. He laughs at him, eyes crinkling up with a smile.
Childe shudders. It’s been so long since he’s heard more than his own voice, and his is so buttery deep. It’s ridiculous.
He covers his mouth instantly, hiding his mistake with an insincere, “I apologize. I should not laugh when I am the one who startled you.”
“You-“ You’re alive. Conscious. Charming and attractive. Fuck. His eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to collect his thoughts. What has Childe gotten himself into? “I dug you out of two feet of snow, yesterday.” Yet, he’s up. Clearly, he’s been through Childe’s things. His kettle sits atop the stove, a fresh fire burning within, and he appears to have collected an array of food from his stores. “Aren’t you exhausted? Hurt?”
“I have sustained no significant injuries that I am aware of, if that is what you ask.”
His choice of words is so thoughtful. So, unlike any of the people Childe interacts with out here. It’s actually refreshing. The bed dips at his added weight. The proximity makes him stiffen. Childe’s fingers brush over the knife tucked between his mattress and the frame. His vision is long out of reach.
The man gives him a small, regretful smile.
“I am in need of giving you my thanks. I fear my memory is a bit… hazy. But I recall the cold creeping through my limbs. I do not know how long I was out there, but you saved me. Did you not, ah-“
He’s searching for a name. Childe gives him a dishonest one.
“Childe.”
“Childe,” He toys it over, and Childe’s own heart jumps at it. Pitiful. It shouldn’t make him feel this way.
Is he really that desperate for human contact?
(Yes.)
This man is suspicious. He sets off all his red flags. But the apologetic look he gives seems so genuine, as does his words. “Thank you.”
“It’s a miracle you’re even alive. How did you make it out this far? We’re a long way from any village.”
The man’s lips purse into a frown, and his eyes focus on a random spot in the room. Childe watches him dig through his brain, nose scrunching up until he relents with a frustrated sigh.
“I- I do not know. I can’t seem to remember. I left Liyue Harbor months ago, but after that-“
Childe frowns.
“What’s your name?”
“This is rather frustrating.” He sighs again. “You may call me Zhongli.”
“Is that your name, though?”
“I do not know. But it is one that is important to me. It should suffice for our purposes, yes?”
Mysterious stranger shows up in the middle of nowhere under suspicious circumstances and now he has amnesia?
Childe wants to laugh. He’s as good as dead. Or, this man is being honest. After all this, he’d make a piss poor assassin, having to be rescued by his own mark. It was mere chance that Childe stumbled across him in the woods yesterday. If his aim had been better, he would have never trekked deeper into the forest.
And Zhongli would be dead.
The entire story is too farfetched to be a lie. It has to be the truth. Or so, Childe manages to convince himself. Perhaps, he’s grown rusty in his solitude. His senses dulled over time. Softened.
Or perhaps, he tires of being alone.
“I wish I could reassure you that I bear you no ill will. As I am, I do not. But considering I have lost some of my memories, I assume you would find this statement lacking.”
He does.
Childe’s chin lays in his hand. What alternative does he have? Would he let another innocent person die for his own selfishness?
His shoulders slump down. Zhongli picks up on the shift in his demeanor. It’s a break in his guard.
“You’re right. But there isn’t any alternative, is there? I’m not enough of an ass to throw you back outside. But take this as a warning, I am not a novice in a fight.”
Though from the looks of it, neither is Zhongli. At a time, that would have excited him. It still does to an extent, with a bristling of his nerves and the bite of his nails into his palm. The thought of combat crossed his mind the moment he saw Zhongli’s vision.
“I can tell.” Zhongli gestures to the scars that run up the length of Childe’s arms from beneath the sleeves of his flannel. They’re messy, poorly healed. Before he’d bleed himself dry for strength, and let his body take the sacrifice. It’s forever marked on him in the uneven skin that litters his body.
Zhongli shrugs. He’s taken Childe’s thinly veiled threat with remarkable decorum. “It seems you have lived a life where trust is a priceless commodity. I can understand that it is hard to give. And to a stranger like me, no less, that has little to exchange in the way of answers.”
Childe frowns. Its such an earnest thing to say. It hits all the right buttons. He’s not sure what to do with it.
In the lingering silence between them, the kettle trills. Steam rises, and Zhongli’s brows raise with a soft ‘oh’.
“Well,” Childe slips out from the covers. He pulls on a light jacket over his pajamas. It’s been sometime since he’s had a guest. Actually, the last person up here was the local doctor last summer when he’d come down with a terrible infection. So, really there’s been none. Zhongli is his first and only guest in this modest home he’s built. “I guess I can show some hospitality. I’m a little rough at it. You’re the first person I’ve seen in ages.”
He smiles slight and some of the tension leaves Zhongli’s shoulders with a breath.
“Were you hungry?” It appears he was starting to cook before Childe had woke up. There’s a selection of cured meats and vegetables across the counter. He pours himself a cup of coffee. Childe doesn’t have the heart to tell him to use it sparingly. The guy did just wake up from basically a coma.
“Perhaps, a little-“
Childe chuckles. “There’s not much to choose from, but I can make do-“
“Ah, no need. I am an excellent cook. Let me. It is the least I can do before I return to-“
Childe stops. It seems there’s been a misunderstanding. How the hell did Zhongli make it this far out here being so… so naive? Snezhnaya is not like the other nations. It is not a place where travel is free, not because of any human action or that of the divine, but by simple climate.
A climate that is both cruel and unforgiving as it is serene and beautiful.
“You can’t.” Childe interjects. It seems that Zhongli does not fully understand his situation. Lest he wants to make Childe’s efforts to save his life null and void.
“Excuse me?”
“Leave.” He answers shortly, and quickly back tracks at the concern that washes over the other man’s expression. “I mean, its not safe this time of year. The river is frozen over, and the roads back to the nearest village are impassable. The distance is too long to make during the daylight, and the weather is too unpredictable. If you get caught in another snowstorm-“
Zhongli gets the point.
“So, I am stuck.”
“Pretty much.”
“Ah,” Childe just nods while Zhongli digests the information. A frown crosses his face, and his fingers dig deep into his sleeves. “I have put an undue burden on you.”
“Burden might be a bit dramatic.”
His food stocks can’t cover two people though. He’ll have to supplement it when he can.
“If I am to live here until spring, you may put me to work. I would not wish to be a free loader, so to speak.”
It’s something that actually makes Childe laugh. The action is almost unfamiliar like a distant memory. A lightness in his chest that has his blood rushing, and his teeth bared in a grin. This is ridiculous. This entire situation. But Childe is not lonely, and he has a feeling that he won’t be bored anytime soon.
Zhongli’s frown is more endearing than it is displeasured, when he says, “I did not realize what I said was humorous.”
If only he knew.
Zhongli makes breakfast out of vegetables Childe has stored from the summer and salted perch Childe caught along the river. It’s so much better than anything Childe manages to cook for himself despite being so simple; yet to him, it feels anything but. The last time someone cooked for him-
Ah, Childe’s eyes grow wet, and he struggles to swallow down his bite. His expression falters, and he has to blink away the start of tears. If it shows, Zhongli says nothing, and he’s thankful for that.