Zhongli freezes the moment your tears fall, his golden eyes widening briefly before softening with an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. He steps forward with a measured grace, the air around him calm yet charged with purpose.

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice steady yet laced with concern, “do not cry.”

His hands, steady as the earth itself, reach out to cradle your face. His touch is impossibly gentle, as though he fears you might shatter under the weight of your sorrow. His thumbs sweep across your cheeks, brushing your tears away with a reverence that feels ancient, eternal.

“I never intended to bring you pain,” he says softly, his gaze locked on yours, his expression one of quiet regret. “If I have, then it is a mistake I shall carry heavily in my heart.”

Before you can say a word, he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a protective embrace. His presence is grounding, as though the world itself has steadied beneath your feet.

“Your sorrow is mine to soothe,” he whispers into your hair, his voice carrying the weight of a solemn vow. “No matter the cause, I will stand beside you until the ache fades.”

His hand moves to the back of your head, holding you close, his warmth seeping into your very being. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear is like a lullaby, calming the storm within you.

In his arms, the tears come slower, your anguish melting into something softer, something bearable. Zhongli does not rush you, does not speak further—he simply holds you, as constant and unwavering as the earth itself, until the weight of your sorrow feels lighter.