[He'd forgotten how fragile human bodies are. Even beneath the covers, his body settles itself into a notable, frustrating shiver. It's fine, he tells himself, the feeling will start coming back and the shuddering will subside.

Childe speaks and his gaze slides to the Snezhnayan, a gruff little exhale as his eyes close.]

You're still acting like I have a choice. If you decide you want something, that is your right as the victor, isn't it?

[He could probably stand to give Childe a small victory, but... ah. He doesn't want to. Not yet. The Harbinger has already proven that if he really wants, his hands will do as they like, regardless of Zhongli's thoughts on the matter.]

I ache. If that's all, I would like to rest.

[As he speaks, ignoring the chill of the blankets even against his skin, he turns away from Childe to settle himself in the space. He wasn't lying - he certainly aches, both from the cold and from the injuries (which, he suspects, will feel worse in the morning thanks to said cold on the myriad of bruises).]