Childe sleeps through all four of his alarms and wakes to an empty bed.

The room is chilly—it's the tail end of summer, just leaning into Fall, and Liyue's air has turned crisp. Zhongli likes to sleep with the windows of his apartment open, and so Childe does the same. The silk sheets cling to his skin, cool to the touch.

Childe rolls over and sighs, smoothing his hand over the empty side of the bed. He presses his face into Zhongli's empty pillow, chasing his scent that barely lingers.

It is work, said Zhongli a month back. Occasionally, I have work studies that I'm a part of. My expertise is needed somewhere else. It is only temporary.

Temporary or not, Childe has gotten used to Zhongli's solid presence at his side. His warmth at night, when they cuddle in the sheets, and how Childe doesn't have nightmares when Zhongli spoons him from behind. The nightmares aren't back, but Childe hasn't slept well since he left. It's only a matter of time.

"Man, I'm pathetic," he says to himself, sinking into the mattress, unwilling to get up.

He gets it, really he does. Zhongli is a student, but he also has a job—doctoral candidates are a whole extra layer of complicated shenanigans that Childe barely understands. Zhongli is taking the fall semester off to be of use elsewhere.

Childe looks at his phone. He sees the message with stilted text with perfect punctuation. Even thousands of miles away, Zhongli is still Zhongli.

"Dumbass, big-brained, old man." It is affectionate. Childe's face crinkles with mirth even as he grouses. And really, there's nothing more that he loves than a Zhongli who's doing what he loves. And yeah, Childe would prefer that to be him, pressed into their bed, but—

It's too early in the morning to think about that.

Childe rubs at his face and yawns. He stretches, rolling out the kinks in his neck, and looks at the clock. It's later than he meant for, but at least he hasn't missed practice. Skirk pushes hard when they laze about. Her words, not his.

"Might as well get on with the day, yeah?"

The worst part is probably that he answers his own question.

#

His mid-day coffee run comes with an unwanted dose of Xiao.

Childe can't help that this is the only local coffee joint around, and he's tried to push past their weird love-hate friendship that's been carefully cultivated. He tries because Xiao is Zhongli's oldest, dearest friend, but it's impossible to make nice when the response is threat after threat.

"Do you want me to hold your hand under the steam wand?"

"Should I report you to the manager?"

Xiao hisses. " I own the damn place—"

"Gods forbid you to take a joke. Sheesh."

Xiao's mouth settles into a thin line as he turns away to pull a few shots. And then, unexpectedly, he says, "You look tired." The words come out grating, but it's a noticeable effort.

Childe's eyebrow raises. "Celestia above, was that some actual effort?"

"I…" Xiao huffs, immediately on the defensive. "I told him I'd keep an eye on you, that's all. And you look tired—the kind of tired that's concerning."

Childe's mouth snaps shut. Oh. He rubs at his brow and sighs softly. "Of course he'd…"

"I don't want to get involved, but Zhongli's an idiot. And because he's an idiot, that means you're an idiot—"

"Hey."

"Which means it'll eventually trickle down to me by default, making me an idiot because I willingly choose to put up with the two of you." Xiao doesn't look at him, he just swirls about the espresso shots he's pulled with whatever syrup he's added. "I'm not sure what is worse—the fact that I'm not more annoyed by the two of you, or that fact that I like the two of you idiots together."

Childe's mouth falls open, but Xiao beats him to it. "Also, I'm never admitting that ever again, so good luck getting Zhongli to believe it."

"I…" Childe chuckles softly. "Okay, that's fair."

It falls quiet as Childe sits there at the coffee bar, watching Xiao make drink after drink. Eventually, Xiao sets a mug in front of him, a doppio topped with whipped cream. "Look, I'm not usually the type to stick my nose where it doesn't belong—"

"You aren't?" Because Childe thinks that Xiao is exactly the opposite.

Xiao's mouth tightens, but his expression isn't tense. "Look, I can't fathom what Zhongli sees in you, but it's been a long time since I've seen him so…" He trails off, waving in the air vaguely. "The point is he'll be home soon, okay? It's not like he's run off and said nothing." The last point is punctuated with a very stern look.

Childe winces, rubbing at his neck, but says nothing else.

Xiao taps the bartop then. "Now, don't let that espresso die. I wasted the good beans on you, and it's bad enough that I ruined the shots with the whip."

Childe shoots him a rude gesture, even though he's thankful.

#

He comes home in the evening, bones tired and body sagging with exhaustion. Skirk ran the team hard, commenting that she refused to let the University's first rugby team lose out on the championship title.

"Shit," murmurs Childe, dropping his bag to the floor. "And I still have homework. Shit." He'll be lucky if he's still awake by the time he makes it to the couch.

This is where Zhongli comes in handy. Childe usually sits on the couch, pouring through papers and assignments. Zhongli will turn the television on and the volume low, then he'll drag Childe's feet into his lap and rub at his ankles. The domestic bliss is what kills Childe, really. It shouldn't be this easy or effortless.

When Childe thinks of marriage, he thinks of his parents who weren't unhappy, nor happy— they just are. They go through the motions, his mother making dinner and his father working a nine-to-five. They have kids. They wake up each morning and go to sleep every night in the same bed. They even kiss, soft fluttering touches that aren't awkward, but—

It isn't the same. Childe knows that his parents love each other, but he wonders how long ago the flame started dying. He's pretty fucking sure that it won't happen to him; Zhongli wouldn't let it. Zhongli would sooner saw his own foot off than let the romance they share die.

"Shit, I've got it bad."

There could be worse things than being woefully in love with your husband, supposes Childe. Still makes his absence sting all the more.

When Childe slips into bed that night, he makes sure the windows are propped open for the breeze. He settles into his side of the bed, but steals Zhongli's pillow, burying his face into it.

Every single night, there is one last thing that Childe does, right after he sets his alarms for the moment. He spends a moment scrolling through his gallery, taking in Zhongli's face and whatever pictures he's sent from his trip. And then, Childe opens up his messages and types the same fucking thing.

Hey, I know it's late over there, but you know the drill. Good night, Zhongli. I love you.

There is no answer. Zhongli is away at work and won't look at his phone for hours yet. He's on the other side of the world and they always just barely miss each other.

It is comfort, though, having a person he can say it to. His husband, actually, because Childe still forgets that they've married on paper. "Gods, my sister is right," he whispers to himself, thinking of the letters he shares with Tonia.

Disgustingly in love, she called him.

Childe wouldn't want it another way.

#

In the morning, when the birds have just started chirping, and the sun is just peeking over the Liyue horizon, Childe's phone vibrates on the bedside table.

He won't see it until he's awake, but it doesn't matter. The message will sit there, ready for when the time comes, just like every other morning.

Good morning, Childe. I love you too.