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Childe struggles with chopsticks on a good day.
But today, when Childe picks them up, angling to pick up a jade parcel sitting in front of him, a sharp pain shoots through his wrist and up his arm. An involuntary wince that he bites down on halfway is all it takes for the chopsticks to lose their hold on the parcel and for it to fall onto the table between the dish and his own plate.
Childe looks over at Zhongli, who is perfectly holding up a jade parcel with his own chopsticks, and cracks a nervous smile. "Xiansheng, I still don't understand how you use these so effortlessly."
Instead of the usual mirth in Zhongli's golden eyes, there is a worried crease between his brows and a frown on his lips. He is studying Childe's hand, which had readjusted its hold on the chopsticks, moving to stab the fallen jade parcel. There is a dull throb in his wrist, and his grip is looser than usual.
Childe swallows nervously, "Xiansheng?"
"Childe," Zhongli begins, putting down his own chopsticks and leaning over the table. He gently pries the chopsticks from his hand, rubbing circles into his wrist right where the pain sparks across it. "You are in pain."
It is not stated as a question.
Childe’s chest tightens at the certainty Zhongli had said it with. How did he know?
Childe laughs nervously, "Xiansheng, what are you talking about? I'm fine! I've been cooped up in the bank all day today. Why would anything hurt? There are no enemies to fight there other than my mountain of paperwork!"
Childe is not lying. He has spent his morning in his office, biting his lip to ignore the dull throb in his wrist as he signed and filed the documents on his desk, the quill in his hand shaking as he struggled to maintain his grip on the thin handle. He had made mental plans to pick up a supply of painkillers from Doctor Baizhu after work before he returned home.
His mind wanders to a tumble off a cliff in the darkest depths of Tevyat while running from a group of rifthounds and a wrist he had set himself after having to slash his way through that mob. His wrist had never healed properly, like many of his injuries from that time.
Usually, on days when those bygone wounds like to remind Childe they exist, Childe grits his teeth and continues on the battlefield, letting the rush of adrenaline from his hydro blades cleanse his mind of the pain. There is no room to dwell on the pain of bygone injuries on the battlefield, where one misstep can spell the difference between life and death.
But today, Childe is not on the battlefield. Childe is being stared down by warm golden eyes. They are filled with worry as Zhongli's other hand comes up to cup his cheek, rubbing his thumb under his eye. “Baobei, let’s go home. It is important for you to recover. Some battles are not won on the battlefield, but they are equally as important.” Before Childe can open his mouth to protest or ask what he means, Zhongli continues, “I will ask for a box for the food and a letter to be sent to the bank. Come.”
Childe opens his mouth to begin another protest, but then another look into the warm golden depths of Zhongli’s eyes causes him to close it. Maybe just once, he’ll allow himself to indulge. Indulge in the warmth and stability of Zhongli, the anchor the god held among Childe’s stormy seas. A place where the pain will fade away into the golden warmth Zhongli provides so readily to Childe.
They make it back to their shared apartment, and Zhongli leads him to bed, rubbing circles into his arm and curling around him protectively. Childe’s head is pushed up against Zhongli’s chest as he inhales Zhongli’s familiar scent of incense and silkflowers.
“Rest,” Zhongli murmurs, his warm breath tickling Childe where he is nuzzled into his hair, “I will be here when you awaken -- when the pain dulls and you are able to take on the world again. For now, everything else can wait.”