Zhongli has never indulged in sleep until now.

There was never a need beyond pleasure. Zhongli has spent eons watching after the lives of others instead of himself, late nights spent listening to the prayers of his people. Fleeting hopes and dreams of better futures, things that he can easily craft with his old and ancient hands like the stone and ground that Liyue is carved into.

Retirement has not come easy because Zhongli is a doer. He has always taken matters into his own hands so sitting to the side and letting his children grow—it is hard. Caring for himself is something that does not come naturally, even now. Zhongli struggles to let go of those protective instincts that burrow deep in his chest.

Warm fingers pet his hair tenderly as Zhongli lazes about in bed. His eyes flutter closed as he sinks into the sheets, swathed in soft silk that blankets him with comfort. How long has it been since he last felt something like this?

Childe is the same, in a way. He is good to Zhongli but not good to himself. They take turns, guarding each other from the wiles of the world as they try to navigate whatever this is between them.

Zhongli enjoys these moments where Childe bares himself, scratching his nails against Zhongli's scalp as he thinks. Childe's lap is soft. His touch is sweet and lingering. He strokes through his hair with the sort of languidness that comes from more than just affection. Zhongli feels his mortal guise melt away as he dozes, comfortable enough to trust and trust and trust.

"It's unfair," says Childe, voice quiet, trembling slightly as he speaks to what he thinks is a silent room, "for you to make me think that I can find a home here. For you to—" A pause. "For me to—"

Zhongli perks, forcing himself to stay still. These are not things that Childe would say if he were awake but curiosity piques.

Childe sighs. "I love you." The confession is soft, but not errant like a breeze. Childe often says things that he doesn't mean, but this—this, he does. This is as genuine as Zhongli has ever heard him, more so than even his anger when he learned just who Zhongli is.

"Gods, I'm an idiot. Who falls in love with an Archon?" Childe snorts incredulously. Zhongli imagines the way that his lip must wobble as he thinks, and all the while, Childe still pets his hair lovingly. "Let me figure it out. Wait for me, yeah?"

Zhongli has waited six thousand years for something like this. What is a little bit longer?