[ It's a thin fracture dribbling from somewhere beneath the hairline, something that Zhongli does not see as Childe catches the gold droplets before they drip down into his eyes. All Zhongli knows is that some physical altercation of his has caused Childe to panic so he stays there, clutching the towel and still as stone while Childe applies further pressure.
(Not now. If not now, when would they talk about it? There's no guarantee that Zhongli would remember this exchange in the next few hours let alone until some ambiguous future date.)
His lips thin to a line with the expression of a person who knows that they are being placated, but having no way to counter such an action. Zhongli is not a fool. He knows that the temperatures of Snezhnaya should have done more damage to him, lost some frozen fingers or toes or something even more vital for his hubris in wandering through the cold with a faulty memory. But he had not questioned it because it had been convenient. Did not want to question it for fear the answer would only further slow him down. ]
No, it does not hurt.
[ Zhongli is being mostly truthful.
It only hurts when he tries to concentrate on what Childe had said--- Not human not human not human. But these thoughts slip through his fingers like sand in the desert, more gold ichor seeping into the pristine white cloth of Childe's scarf as he tries to cling to it.
And so, after a short time, he does not, and lets that memory wash away along with the countless others this affliction had taken. He'd learned to not fight it after the incident where he woke up on the cold floor of his house, sticky gold paint ruining the stained hardwood and almost a week of time just gone as if it had never been.
(How had he survived such a --- no, best not think about that either less his condition worsen.)
And so the thoughts recede as does the "blood" as the remark shatters and dissipates. Zhongli attempts to look at Childe with a comforting if somewhat shaky small smile. ]
no subject
(Not now. If not now, when would they talk about it? There's no guarantee that Zhongli would remember this exchange in the next few hours let alone until some ambiguous future date.)
His lips thin to a line with the expression of a person who knows that they are being placated, but having no way to counter such an action. Zhongli is not a fool. He knows that the temperatures of Snezhnaya should have done more damage to him, lost some frozen fingers or toes or something even more vital for his hubris in wandering through the cold with a faulty memory. But he had not questioned it because it had been convenient. Did not want to question it for fear the answer would only further slow him down. ]
No, it does not hurt.
[ Zhongli is being mostly truthful.
It only hurts when he tries to concentrate on what Childe had said--- Not human not human not human. But these thoughts slip through his fingers like sand in the desert, more gold ichor seeping into the pristine white cloth of Childe's scarf as he tries to cling to it.
And so, after a short time, he does not, and lets that memory wash away along with the countless others this affliction had taken. He'd learned to not fight it after the incident where he woke up on the cold floor of his house, sticky gold paint ruining the stained hardwood and almost a week of time just gone as if it had never been.
(How had he survived such a --- no, best not think about that either less his condition worsen.)
And so the thoughts recede as does the "blood" as the remark shatters and dissipates. Zhongli attempts to look at Childe with a comforting if somewhat shaky small smile. ]
Please do not worry. I am all right.