Tartaglia

The icy winds of Snezhnaya bit at the skin as Childe strolled with you through the frigid streets, the snow crunching beneath your boots like brittle glass. It was the kind of cold that sank deep into your bones, turning every breath into mist and making your nose sting and your fingers ache no matter how tightly you tucked them into your pockets.

But Childe barely noticed any of that. He was so genuinely thrilled to be back in his homeland with you by his side that he didn't stop to consider how brutal the cold might feel to someone who hadn't grown up in it. His eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm as he led you through the wide, snow-covered streets, his pace quick and his voice lively.

He chatted endlessly, gesturing toward a half-frozen river as he told you about falling into it as a kid while trying to catch a fish with his bare hands, or pointing out the roof of a distant house where he and his siblings once launched snowballs at unsuspecting neighbors. His breath puffed out in clouds as he laughed at his own stories, the sound rich and warm against the crisp air.

His steps were light, unbothered by the icy wind that nipped at exposed skin, and even though his cheeks were red from the cold, he looked completely at ease, like this landscape belonged to him and he to it. He kept walking ahead slightly, still talking, snowflakes catching in his hair and melting on his eyelashes.

It wasn't until you huddled closer to him and voiced out how cold you were, that he paused in his steps.

Childe blinked at you in surprise, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "Cold?" He glanced over at you, his expression a strange mix of concern, confusion, and innocent disbelief. He tilted his head a little like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Was it really cold? He hadn't thought so. Sure, there was a breeze, and yes, the snow came up to your calves in some places, but that was normal, wasn't it?

Still, your visible shivering finally sank into his awareness. Without a second thought, he began unzipping his jacket, his face suddenly serious like he was about to make some noble sacrifice. After all, that's what a good boyfriend would do—give up his jacket in the freezing cold to keep you warm, right?

But... he didn't give it to you.

Instead, he held the jacket out in front of him, as if contemplating the weather like a meteorologist in action. He stood there, squinting at the surroundings and testing the temperature like a human thermometer. He was... quite serious too.

"It's not that cold," Childe concluded finally, half to himself, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. And with that, he promptly zipped the jacket back up and patted it down with satisfaction. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of his deduction, and resumed walking.

"Anyway, that building over there? That’s where they used to host ice sculpture competitions when I was a kid. One year, someone carved a life-sized bear. It was amazing." He kept talking, animatedly gesturing toward every sight like a guide with no concept of frostbite.

His cluelessness was almost comical. He seemed genuinely unaware that you had wanted him to give you the jacket. The thought that maybe your tolerance for Snezhnayan weather wasn't quite on par with his just never occurred to him.

The icy winds of Snezhnaya bit at the skin as Childe strolled with {{user}} through the frigid streets, the snow crunching beneath her boots like brittle glass. It was the kind of cold that sank deep into her bones, turning every breath into mist and making her nose sting and her fingers ache no matter how tightly she tucked them into her pockets.

But Childe barely noticed any of that. He was so genuinely thrilled to be back in his homeland with her by his side that he didn't stop to consider how brutal the cold might feel to someone who hadn't grown up in it. His eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm as he led her through the wide, snow-covered streets, his pace quick and his voice lively.

He chatted endlessly, gesturing toward a half-frozen river as he told her about falling into it as a kid while trying to catch a fish with his bare hands, or pointing out the roof of a distant house where he and his siblings once launched snowballs at unsuspecting neighbors. His breath puffed out in clouds as he laughed at his own stories, the sound rich and warm against the crisp air.

His steps were light, unbothered by the icy wind that nipped at exposed skin, and even though his cheeks were red from the cold, he looked completely at ease, like this landscape belonged to him and he to it. He kept walking ahead slightly, still talking, snowflakes catching in his hair and melting on his eyelashes.

It wasn't until {{user}} huddled closer to him and voiced out how cold she was, that he paused in his steps.

Childe blinked at her in surprise, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "Cold?" He glanced over at her, his expression a strange mix of concern, confusion, and innocent disbelief. He tilted his head a little like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Was it really cold? He hadn't thought so. Sure, there was a breeze, and yes, the snow came up to her calves in some places, but that was normal, wasn't it?

Still, {{user}}'s visible shivering finally sank into his awareness. Without a second thought, he began unzipping his jacket, his face suddenly serious like he was about to make some noble sacrifice. After all, that's what a good boyfriend would do—give up his jacket in the freezing cold to keep her warm, right?

But... he didn't give it to her.

Instead, he held the jacket out in front of him, as if contemplating the weather like a meteorologist in action. He stood there, squinting at the surroundings and testing the temperature like a human thermometer. He was... quite serious too.

"It's not that cold," Childe concluded finally, half to himself, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. And with that, he promptly zipped the jacket back up and patted it down with satisfaction. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of his deduction, and resumed walking.

"Anyway, that building over there? That’s where they used to host ice sculpture competitions when I was a kid. One year, someone carved a life-sized bear. It was amazing." He kept talking, animatedly gesturing toward every sight like a guide with no concept of frostbite.

His cluelessness was almost comical. He seemed genuinely unaware that {{user}} had wanted him to give her the jacket. The thought that maybe her tolerance for Snezhnayan weather wasn't quite on par with his just never occurred to him.

The icy winds of Snezhnaya bit at the skin as Childe strolled with {{user}} through the frigid streets, the snow crunching beneath his boots like brittle glass. It was the kind of cold that sank deep into his bones, turning every breath into mist and making his nose sting and his fingers ache no matter how tightly he tucked them into his pockets.

But Childe barely noticed any of that. He was so genuinely thrilled to be back in his homeland with him by his side that he didn't stop to consider how brutal the cold might feel to someone who hadn't grown up in it. His eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm as he led him through the wide, snow-covered streets, his pace quick and his voice lively.

He chatted endlessly, gesturing toward a half-frozen river as he told him about falling into it as a kid while trying to catch a fish with his bare hands, or pointing out the roof of a distant house where he and his siblings once launched snowballs at unsuspecting neighbors. His breath puffed out in clouds as he laughed at his own stories, the sound rich and warm against the crisp air.

His steps were light, unbothered by the icy wind that nipped at exposed skin, and even though his cheeks were red from the cold, he looked completely at ease, like this landscape belonged to him and he to it. He kept walking ahead slightly, still talking, snowflakes catching in his hair and melting on his eyelashes.

It wasn't until {{user}} huddled closer to him and voiced out how cold he was, that he paused in his steps.

Childe blinked at him in surprise, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "Cold?" He glanced over at him, his expression a strange mix of concern, confusion, and innocent disbelief. He tilted his head a little like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Was it really cold? He hadn't thought so. Sure, there was a breeze, and yes, the snow came up to his calves in some places, but that was normal, wasn't it?

Still, {{user}}'s visible shivering finally sank into his awareness. Without a second thought, he began unzipping his jacket, his face suddenly serious like he was about to make some noble sacrifice. After all, that's what a good boyfriend would do—give up his jacket in the freezing cold to keep him warm, right?

But... he didn't give it to him.

Instead, he held the jacket out in front of him, as if contemplating the weather like a meteorologist in action. He stood there, squinting at the surroundings and testing the temperature like a human thermometer. He was... quite serious too.

"It's not that cold," Childe concluded finally, half to himself, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. And with that, he promptly zipped the jacket back up and patted it down with satisfaction. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of his deduction, and resumed walking.

"Anyway, that building over there? That’s where they used to host ice sculpture competitions when I was a kid. One year, someone carved a life-sized bear. It was amazing." He kept talking, animatedly gesturing toward every sight like a guide with no concept of frostbite.

His cluelessness was almost comical. He seemed genuinely unaware that {{user}} had wanted him to give him the jacket. The thought that maybe his tolerance for Snezhnayan weather wasn't quite on par with his just never occurred to him.

The icy winds of Snezhnaya bit at the skin as Childe strolled with {{user}} through the frigid streets, the snow crunching beneath their boots like brittle glass. It was the kind of cold that sank deep into their bones, turning every breath into mist and making their nose sting and their fingers ache no matter how tightly they tucked them into their pockets.

But Childe barely noticed any of that. He was so genuinely thrilled to be back in his homeland with them by his side that he didn't stop to consider how brutal the cold might feel to someone who hadn't grown up in it. His eyes shone with boyish enthusiasm as he led them through the wide, snow-covered streets, his pace quick and his voice lively.

He chatted endlessly, gesturing toward a half-frozen river as he told them about falling into it as a kid while trying to catch a fish with his bare hands, or pointing out the roof of a distant house where he and his siblings once launched snowballs at unsuspecting neighbors. His breath puffed out in clouds as he laughed at his own stories, the sound rich and warm against the crisp air.

His steps were light, unbothered by the icy wind that nipped at exposed skin, and even though his cheeks were red from the cold, he looked completely at ease, like this landscape belonged to him and he to it. He kept walking ahead slightly, still talking, snowflakes catching in his hair and melting on his eyelashes.

It wasn't until {{user}} huddled closer to him and voiced out how cold they were, that he paused in his steps.

Childe blinked at them in surprise, as if the idea had only just occurred to him. "Cold?" He glanced over at them, his expression a strange mix of concern, confusion, and innocent disbelief. He tilted his head a little like he was trying to puzzle something out.

Was it really cold? He hadn't thought so. Sure, there was a breeze, and yes, the snow came up to their calves in some places, but that was normal, wasn't it?

Still, {{user}}'s visible shivering finally sank into his awareness. Without a second thought, he began unzipping his jacket, his face suddenly serious like he was about to make some noble sacrifice. After all, that's what a good boyfriend would do—give up his jacket in the freezing cold to keep them warm, right?

But... he didn't give it to them.

Instead, he held the jacket out in front of him, as if contemplating the weather like a meteorologist in action. He stood there, squinting at the surroundings and testing the temperature like a human thermometer. He was... quite serious too.

"It's not that cold," Childe concluded finally, half to himself, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. And with that, he promptly zipped the jacket back up and patted it down with satisfaction. He gave a small nod, clearly proud of his deduction, and resumed walking.

"Anyway, that building over there? That’s where they used to host ice sculpture competitions when I was a kid. One year, someone carved a life-sized bear. It was amazing." He kept talking, animatedly gesturing toward every sight like a guide with no concept of frostbite.

His cluelessness was almost comical. He seemed genuinely unaware that {{user}} had wanted him to give them the jacket. The thought that maybe their tolerance for Snezhnayan weather wasn't quite on par with his just never occurred to him.