𝘼𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣 [ 𝘼𝙐 𝙕𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙘𝙝𝙞 +18 ]

4: Plain of nostalgia

Zhongli stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands clasped on his stomach, his chest rising and falling slowly. The events of the previous week kept assaulting his mind over and over again, altering his concentration. He brought him back bad memories from many years ago.

Tartaglia made him think of his late mother. They were both quite different in personality and appearance, but their craft was practically the same. Zhongli took a deep breath, pressing his lips together and covering his eyes with his arm. How old was the redhead? He would be in his early twenties, too young to be enduring such a horrible life. His appearance was totally haggard from lack of sleep, exhaustion... Pain. Before it seemed that he was angry, with the aggressive and sarcastic attitude of him. But he could see how fragile he was behind that facet.

Zhongli turned around and lay on his side. He narrowed his eyes. Many people inevitably ended up in that lifestyle, like his mother, like Tartaglia. Zhongli was the pillar that supported his mother, he was the reason why she tried so hard for him, that she ended up passing away. Because of overwork? Not exactly, but that also helped. His mother used to drink to deal with the situation, and one day she was found by Zhongli lying on the kitchen floor. She had died of an alcoholic coma. That happened when he was sixteen, and now at twenty-seven he still remembered the scene perfectly. And even with all that, his mother guided him on the right path, showing him the bright future that she could never have.

He ran his hand over his face, his knuckles back to normal a few days ago. What was the reason to keep Tartaglia afloat? Zhongli didn't know it, but it had to be very important to him. He wanted... To save him. But how could he do that? He tried to get the mother out of him, but it all ended with a tragic ending. Although at that time he was a teenager, he was now an adult. Circumstances had changed, he could do a lot more than just give him the phone number and a few bills, right?

But... What can he do?

There was a knock on the door, Venti poking his head out.

"Are you okay?" Asked the dye, without moving from his place. Zhongli sat up, leaning on the backrest.

"I am," he replied, looking into his turquoise eyes. Venti raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You have a bitter face right now, you've been quite distracted lately," he still hadn't explained what happened to anyone, not even his roommate and his oldest friend.

"I'm sorry," Zhongli apologized. Maybe he should do it, to get a different point of view. Venti might be a childish and often an annoying young man, but he knew when to behave correctly. Zhongli invited him to enter the room, waving his hand in the direction of the foot of the bed. The musician pushed the door wide open, entering the bedroom and sitting cross-legged on the mattress.

"And?" He asked, placing his hands on his ankles, waiting for him to speak.

Zhongli explained to him what happened, from when he heard the struggles coming from the alley until he left Tartaglia in the brothel, adding small comments and thoughts of each most remarkable moment. Venti knew about his past, (after all Zhongli was living with his family after his mother passed away) so he understood that the situation seemed familiar to him. He didn't interrupt his story, just listening carefully to every word he said.

"I see," he said as soon as he finished, placing a hand on his chin and nodding. "I understand that you feel the need to help him."

"The problem is, I don't know how to do that," he sighed, running his hands over his face. "I don't think you will accept my help."

"Isn't there some way you can get closer to him?" He asked, leaning forward. "Perhaps if you could gain more of his trust, he would let himself be helped."