Childe feels that his end is coming.

Maybe it's his Delusion and the way that it crackles, sucking him dry as Electro bursts forth. Or maybe it's the Abyss, pulling and tugging at his being, begging for him to come back, annoyed that he slipped away all those years ago.

It doesn't matter either way. Childe feels it deep in his bones, yanking at his core. The tiredness. The soreness. The never-ending, gut-wrenching toll that the Foul Legacy takes every time he lets it roam free. The strain as he reels it back, folding it away, trying to find himself again.

It gets harder and harder with every fight.

Childe has never imagined a happy ending for himself, so it's always been expected. The life of a Harbinger one is a lonely one, full of empty nights and mornings, constantly watching your back. He can't trust his own brethren, let alone anyone else.

It's far easier to only trust himself, which makes this entire thing awkward.

Aether meets him with a flash of his blade, sword arcing out. Childe barely catches it between twin blades of Hydro.

Today is worse, he thinks, distracted.

Aether knows, Childe can see it in the way that he pulls his punches.

Today is dimmer and darker. Today, Childe feels the Foul Legacy already simmering in his veins, slowly coming to a boil as it wants to leak forth. He manages holds it back, to keep his grip on himself, but it's getting more difficult with every use of it—

"Childe," says Aether, pausing in his form. They stand opposite each other in the Golden House, twenty paces between.

"Yeah, yeah," says Childe, taunting as ever as he shakes himself out and regains his bearings. It sort of works. It's impossible though, to feel the thrum of abyssal power just lingering at his fingertips. His Delusion too, in the way that it pulls more and more from him with every Electro strike.

Childe moves first, summoning his bow and pulling a Hydro arrow taut before letting it fly. Aether rolls across the floor in a dodge, hissing slightly when his shoulder hits the ground hard.

When he rights himself, though, he only looks more determined, his shoulders set and a wicked grin spread wide across his face. Aether is like him, in a way. He too, relishes a good fight. It's why they meet here and duke it out every week, a well-worn ritual that Childe has come to love.

In more ways than one.

They meet again in the middle, Aether's blade dancing with Electro, a remnant of his recent trip to Inazuma. Childe dodges— but just barely— ducking low under the swinging arc. Then he rams into Aether with his shoulder. Aether's blade disappears, and they enter an outright brawl.

It's unusual for their fight. Lacks the sort of finesse that they usually wind up dancing around with. Childe feels the Abyss yank harder at his being, but refuses to answer the call. He's enjoying this too much— the unbridled bliss of wrestling Aether as just himself.

Fingers against soft skin and hard muscle. The way that Childe's nails just barely dig him, leaving marks. Aether's face is close, so close, and it'd take nothing to cross the distance and—

"Childe." Aether interrupts his thoughts through gritted teeth as they grapple at each other. Childe is taller and lankier, and has the advantage. But, despite his smaller stature, Aether is deceptively strong and packs a well-aimed punch with the right timing.

"What's that? Are you losing?"

"Hardly." Aether grunts and they remain in a locked standstill, each one trying to topple the other. Childe is too tall for Aether to yank over, and Aether is too slippery for Childe to get a good grip.

Eventually, they break apart and step back.

"What's wrong?" asks Aether, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong."

"Childe."

Childe ignores him, Hydro pooling at his hands, his blades forming. And then his Delusion flickers to life, Electro crackling.

Aether's eyes widen. "No, don't—"

Childe flies across the space, his attacks hitting with double the force. Aether bites back at him, his sword appearing in just the knick of time. They're neck-in-neck like always, so close in their skill. This is why Childe loves this fight, this is why Childe loves him.

Well, he doesn't think about that. Feelings are messy things that don't belong in the field, but they're hard to ignore entirely when Aether comes at him with everything that he's got, lips curled into a snarl and his eyes glinting.

Childe is distracted and Aether gains the upper hand. Childe is tackled to the ground, his head slamming against the tiled floor of the Golden house, his vision swimming.

Childe wonders if Aether's cornsilk hair feels as smooth as it looks, and for a moment, he considers touching it.

Then he throbs with pain, but this time it's in his heart, not his bones. Not his head. Not his aching joints that have been pushed beyond their limits. It wrenches his gut with how much his love for this man tugs, and Childe wonders as he considers just for a moment— Is this what happiness feels like?

One little moment where Childe just lets himself imagine it.

"Childe," says Aether quietly as he stands over him. His sword dissipates into thin air and he holds out his hand.

Childe stares at Aether's palm as though it might burn him. His throat tightens and he loses his words, his thoughts, everything in that moment that isn't the subtle spark that ignites between them.

Aether is patient. He doesn't move as he stands there and waits. And watches.

At that moment, Childe feels compelled. He lets himself enjoy this one soft moment of truth, and he lets his heart wander free as he regards Aether with a gaze that isn't just friendly. It holds a depth that most don't think Childe is capable of.

"Ajax," says Childe quietly.

Aether's face softens, and he sighs softly. "Ajax," he says instead, his hand still held out stubbornly. "You've got to stop trying to kill yourself."

The words are a chilling set that Childe has never considered before. He doesn't do this to himself, his whims certainly aren't punishment. "You have it wrong, comrade. Death comes for me."

"Only because you seek it out." Aether's mouth is set into a firm line. "And maybe that's what you needed before you came here, but Liyue has changed you. The people here have changed you. I've—" Aether falls quiet then, his hand finally dropping.

"I get it," he continues, "The rush of the fight, the need to beat someone bloody. It's the only way that it gets better, the only thing that fights that dead feeling inside."

Childe swallows thickly, his throat closing in. "That isn't—"

"Living is only worth it when there's something to risk, right?"

A year ago, Childe would've agreed. But Aether is right, Liyue has changed him, for better or worse. And not just Liyue.

"I don't want to see you like this. I don't come here every Monday to put your life at risk, I come here to enjoy a fight with someone that I've come to care about. Stop needlessly throwing it away."

"You'll leave." Childe's voice is quiet when he finally speaks, a pained thing from where he lays heaving on the floor. "Once you catch wind of your sister, you'll be gone, and then all I'll have left is Mr. Zhongli, old as the dirt beneath our feet. We both know that he'd make for a terrible spar."

Only because Zhongli won't go all-out, despite how Childe begs. That's the difference between a fight with him and a fight with Aether. Aether doesn't treat him like some toy that can be broken.

"All the more to enjoy the time we have now. Ajax—" Aether holds out his hand again as he regards Childe with a soft look. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Childe hesitates. Childe stares. Childe never does anything for himself because he's a weapon to be used and a dog to be put down once he's old and obsolete. Sooner than later, he thinks. Childe is foolish in the use of his abilities.

But—

He reaches out, his fingers curling around Aether's palm.

Aether's hand is warm. It feels a little bit like coming home.