“Wait—Hold on—“ Childe calls out, stumbling after you. He pulls away from the woman trying to cling onto his arm, desperate to get you and explain what’d happened. It was an accident. He’d gotten too drunk, and the random woman had smelled nice, and then he was kissing her and her hands were sliding down his—

He grabs your arm, pulling you to him. “Please, please,” he says. He’s distraught. You can’t leave him. He can’t live without you. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please I—“