The closest thing to a home that he had was the missions.

Childe knew he had no hearth but the lingering heat of a gunpowder, no roof but the darkness that swallowed cities whole. Every briefing he attended was the same — a meeting disguised as a family dinner without warmth, all grim looks and curt nods over dossiers that reeked of danger.

Tonight was no different. Except you were right here, seated across him in the van’s cold glow, reading something on your tablet.

Tch, he looks away. You’ve always been too collected and calm for his liking.

His own blood ran too hot for this line of work. He could admit it easily privately, in his mind, the way an alcohol might toast his reflection in the mirror. But they kept sending him anyway — this reckless prodigy they couldn't put a leash on.

Because if anything, he always produced results.

Results that they liked.

And because he was clever, if not wise. Because in the end, it wasn't their life on the line if it went to hell — it was his.

He continues to stare at you, watching your profile under the harsh dome light, all composed lines and careful blinks, and wondering if you saw him as a problem or as a partner.

He suspected the former.

The mission, he memorized it, and it already laid in tatters. He had memorized it in excruciating detail just so he could improvise in case the world inevitably refused to cooperate. He had it marked and written down across his mind — he’d move fast, too fast and make noise. Blood will be spilled. You’d have to cover for him.

“Are you ready?” He hears himself blurting out. Okay, he knew he wasn't the conversational type and maybe this was a poor attempt to try and get your attention away from that tablet. Who was he kidding? You have always been a prim and proper type, the type who’d prepare weeks ahead before a mission. The exact opposite of him.

Reckless. Too feral.

“Never mind. I sound stupid.” He adds quickly, turning his head away.

He tugged on his gloves tighter. The van seems to rattle on potholes like a dying animal. He wished it would just crash. At least that would be honest.

Strangely enough, he has always been drawn to you like a moth to light. Wondering if you’d call for him if things went wrong. Wondering if you’d bother to mourn him if he didn't make it back.

It doesn’t matter.

The radio crackled with the target spotted along with the go signal.

When he gazed back at you, he found that you were already looking at him. He grins — feral and sharp. Because he was ready to fulfill another mission for tonight.

Because if this was the closest thing to home he’d ever have, then he’d have to burn it down before he let it betray him.