[ stubborn and inconsolable would be apt words to describe childe in this moment. each shot of alcohol is like a trail of ice down his throat; shards of glass, of ice, of naked blade that shines bright. they lodge themselves into soft flesh like fishbones. it grates and scrapes with every breath.

not so long ago in the past they have sat together like this. they have sampled wines both sweet and strong, each heaped upon childe with zhongli's recommendations, his hushed intonation of the various characteristics of such that was poured into their glasses through the night. what a change it is now, with both of them displaced from each, childe's eyes stubbornly turned to the invisible hands' turning of glass in front of them as the barkeep cleans it. he has, at least, enough self awareness to recognize this feeling as nostalgia. he hasn't enough to give it any other name than that.

and what an answer. it is honest, in the way that maybe zhongli has always been, the way that he has always thought him to be. the sincerity in which he professes his ignorance - and childe perhaps knows it to be more than that, like blood that spreads under skin unseen and invisible, like poison that is now poured out for the fourth time before them - it hurts. it does not hurt. circling around looking for some likely opening and finding none, childe laughs instead. it's a little off-key, maybe a little deranged. he doesn't correct zhongli in his error. in a way it is also his, for not making it any clearer. ]

Well, whatever. Not like it matters.

Guess the mighty Rex Lapis is stuck like the rest of us pawns.

[ leaning an elbow untidily at the smooth polished surface of the bar, childe finally, finally turns, tilts himself a little towards the other. shoulders perfectly straight, spine stiff like some fresh carved stone. what a pair they make. ]

Do you want another?