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The brilliant thing about Childe is how effortlessly beautiful he is. Or so he’s been told. It’s the way his grin stretches just a bit too wide at the edges with fresh splotches of blood dripping down the sides of his cheeks. The gleam of a blade never looked so attractive. The metallic smell of blood permeates the air and Childe thrives in his element when he decides he prefers the feel of flesh against his bare knuckles over the surgical precision of his hydro blades. It’s enticing to watch the crimson mix around with his hydro-blades, but it’s even more enthralling to personally feel fresh blood on his hands.
Childe wipes the sweat from off his forehead as the last of the bodies drop around him. “Childe!” Someone shouts out to him. Whirling around, Childe spots who. Thoma stands in the distance, waving his arms at him.
“Thoma, what’s up,” Childe grins at the other. He admires Thoma—the other man always seemed so poised in comparison to himself. Childe doesn’t doubt his own gracefulness but compared to Thoma he just seems more bumbling and battle hungry.
“Nothin’, was just admiring the view,”
The compliment brings a flush to his cheeks. Odd. Childe has had things like this said to him before, but this is the first time he’s felt the effect of it. He’s brought out of his musings when hands grab his face. The fingers smudge away at the drying blood on his cheeks. “You look like you were having fun,” Thoma remarks as his fingers still. His stare makes Childe avert his eyes away from Thoma as his cheeks grow even more heated from reasons he can’t explain.
He could, but then that would be Childe acknowledging his budding less-than-platonic feelings for Thoma. Which is outrageous, because Childe knows he isn’t capable of such things even if the feeling in his stomach says otherwise.
“We should head back to town. I’ll treat you to dinner.” Thoma’s thumb lingers around the edges of his lips as he traces the line of his mouth, creeping close to resting on Childe’s bottom lip yet he feathers by it. Thoma’s hands leave his face and Childe doesn’t know understand why he wants Thoma to continue to touch him.
“No need to treat me to dinner,” Unsettled, Childe laughs it off as his feet shuffle and he begins to walk past Thoma. “Perks of being a harbinger and all; mora to spare, battles to beat.”
The pleasant evening air cools his cheeks as Childe sets a brisk pace. Thoma easily catches up, falling in line with him, matching step for step. Childe hardly spares him a glance as he wipes his face clean of any questionable bodily fluids.
“Here,” Once again, Thoma grabs his face as the takes the damp cloth from his hands. Childe is left to endure it as Thoma holds a stern grip on his face. The concentration on Thoma’s face is what has him obeying. “And I want to treat you. After all, it’s not often someone else does, right?”
The flush on Childe’s face comes back full force. There’s a weird warmth in his chest that rises with each gesture Thoma makes. He doesn’t quite understand it as the feeling leaves him in anticipation for… something.
Childe avoids looking Thoma in the eyes, looking anywhere and everywhere. He can avoid Thoma for only so long before he finally drags his gaze to the other man’s. The sun behind Thoma, outlining him against the colorful sky and dyeing him in shades of a setting sun. Sunlight has never felt more inviting than this. Childe has seen how harsh the sun could be—has experienced it himself, even. Sure, he can appreciate it. It’s just natural after all. It’s only in this moment where he’s realized how gentle the sun could be.
Childe hasn’t always been a child of the night, but he was held within its arm for so long he’s forgotten what a ray of warmth feels like. The night is cold, and when day comes, it’s like plunging back into familiarity.
That’s what Thoma reminds him of. Childe wants him. Never before has he held such a desire. Maybe this desire will become a weakness of his. Maybe it will leave him drowning in impossibilities in the end. Maybe Childe will lose himself so thoroughly in Thoma and lose meaning to everything else. But maybe he won’t. Thoma ignites a flame in his heart; it flickers, weak and wavering. It could easily extinguish in any moment yet it stays.
Time stands still for just a second, and in that second, Childe is mesmerized by Thoma who is similar yet so different than him. Sweet Thoma who could never be like him—tainted by the Abyss with endlessly bloodstained hands. He’s what Childe thinks is perfection. He knows Thoma isn’t without flaws; he has many—like sleeping until the sun has fully risen and not living for the thrill of a battle, and, the worst in Childe’s opinion, is how easily he gives away his trust. All of the differences and more, yet he finds himself enraptured by Thoma.
The hands that cage his face disappear and Childe shivers from the loss, chasing after them, missing the comforting weight on his face. They trail downwards, hands tangle in his, loosely clasping his fingers as if unsure.
“Let’s go back home?”
Home is where Snezhnaya is where her Royal Highness the Tsaritsa resides with the rest of the Harbingers, and Morepesok where he hasn’t stepped foot in since he’s left. Home is where the pervasive cold dogs after his heels, and where the crack in his sanity started. Home is not fishing in warm waters and sun-kissed cheeks. And home isn’t crackling skies and ever-blooming sakura blossoms and eternity. It isn’t shaped like Thoma with his easy grin and full-belly laughs.
Yet Childe finds himself wanting to drown in every aspect that is Thoma. He wants his fill up of this man whose sunshine has penetrated through dark depths of the abyss. These delicate feelings don’t make much sense to Childe. If someone was asked to describe him, “shy” is nowhere near the first characteristics that come to the minds of those who have interacted or have known him long.
But with Thoma, he’s left star-struck every time.
Before Childe realizes, he’s lead to the inn, with a steaming bathtub ready for him. He’s gently pushed further in the room, fingers unclasping the buttons on his jacket and threading themselves through his hair. It’s a mind-numbing sensation. Facing towards Thoma, he’s wide-eyed. They’ve spent many nights together before, but none as intimate as this.
“Don’t stay in here for too long. The food will get cold,” Thoma brushes his lips against his ear. Feather-light kisses are pressed against the sides of his cheeks and down the column of his neck before the other man disappears, leaving Childe in a state of daze as Thoma steals his breath away.
He doesn’t remember getting in and out of the bath, but he makes his way to the table where Thoma waits. It’ll be like all those times before—except they never had moments like this where time has become painstakingly slow.
Childe sits close enough to Thoma. The heat of his thigh burns through the fabric of his sleeping pants. Somehow this feels infinitely more personal than any other time they’ve spent together with their clothes off. But in all those other times, they’ve never sat down together like this and never so closely either.
“Thoma,” Childe whispers his name as he’s taken aback by the intensity of Thoma’s stare. There’s a smile on Thoma’s lips like he’s able to read his thoughts. When did they get to this point where no words were needed between them? When did their relationship cross the clear and defined line of ‘transactional’ and onto the murky and blurred line of ‘wishful’? Because for the first time in his life after the Abyss, Childe wants.
No words are exchanged between them. Words stay unspoken hang in the air between them. Invisible—floating between their fingers and their hearts, settling between the deepest crevice of their rib bones. Words that stay silent lest they become something tangible and full of want.
Childe stares at the spread of hearty foods, noting the deliberate lack of usable utensil he’s able to use. Thoma covers his hands with his before Childe could pick up the chopsticks. The man holds his hands like they aren’t capable of merciless bloodshed. He holds them as if they’re delicate and fragile. Thoma showers him with gentleness Childe never thought he deserved.
Eventually, it evolves from Thoma massaging his fingers to pressing kisses against the palm of his hands. Flustered, Childe yanks his hands from Thoma’s hold.
“Th-the food,” He stammers out, hiding his hands within the folds of the sleeping robes Thoma gave him. Childe flushes red, and this time it isn’t caused from the steaming hot bath he took.
Childe uncomfortably grips his chopsticks as he picks them up, fingers unused to the sticks despite being introduced to them back in Liyue. They would come handy as weapons though; he thinks absent-mindedly as he holds one of them like how he would like one of his hydro-daggers. Losing himself thinking about the endless possibilities of how chopsticks poise as convenient, spur-of-the-moment weapons, Childe doesn’t realize he’s been gradually fed until Thoma laughs at him.
Teasing him, Thoma says, “What’s got you so lost in thought?” and Childe blurts out the first thing in mind.
“How many plausible ways do you think chopsticks could be used to maim, incapacitate, and/or kill a person,” Silence ensues, and Childe is good at silence. Amazing, even. He thrives in silence, so it’s only nature he continues to blab his thoughts out loud.
“I mean, they’re sticks. Pointy and already refined and perfect for when you find yourself in a spot of trouble because you just yank them out and bam. Weapon of convenience! It really saves you the trouble just in case you’re without your weapons. Especially since they’re just the right size and all,” He trails off, pausing as Thoma feeds him another piece of tofu. Childe admires how effortless Thoma makes it look.
Clearing his throat, Childe begins to speak. “Uhm, I can feed myself Thoma.”
“You can.” He nods in agreement as he feeds another piece of tofu into Childe’s mouth.
“So?” Childe gestures towards the chopsticks Thoma holds in his hands once he realizes there’s only been one set of utensils the entire time. He doesn’t even remember when Thoma took them out of his hands either.
“No.” Thoma smiles indulgently at him as he feeds himself with the very same chopsticks that have been used to feed Childe.
The warm feeling that’s been simmering within Childe returns full-force and threatens to burst out of him at the sight of Thoma’s actions. It almost makes him feel unsettled at how easy it is to get along with Thoma. Could he, dare Childe even think it, love Thoma? He couldn’t. His duties come must come first before anything else. Even if his heart trembles at the possibilities.
Suddenly feeling glum, Childe shakes his head, refusing when Thoma attempts to feed him again. “Childe?”
“It’s nothing,” He attempts a half-smile. Childe doesn’t want to ruin whatever easy comradery they have between them now. “A bit tired now that I have some food in me so I think it’s best for me to turn in for the night.”
Thoma frowns. “I’m sorry if I was being too forward,” His sudden apology surprises Childe.
“No, no. It’s nothing you’ve done,” Reassuring him, Childe continues. “Forward about what exactly?” He watches as Thoma become a blushing mess in front of him. It’s the first time Childe has seen the other man as anything but calm.
He observes as Thoma gathers his thoughts. It’s endearing to watch Thoma as his idle hands start cleaning up the dishes as he continues to think.
“The miso soup,” he says as if Childe understands what that simple sentence means.
“I made you miso soup,” Thoma continues as he resolutely keeps his eyes from not making contact with Childe’s. “And I… your hands, and you, and yeah. Rather forward of me, right?”
“Thoma,” Childe says, and with just a name, he was able to direct all of Thoma’s attention onto him. “I absolutely do not know what you mean by miso soup. Or anything else that you mentioned.”
Thoma blushes instantly. It amuses Childe to be able to witness how red a person can get from, he assumes, embarrassment.
Calming down, Thoma explains, “I made you miso soup and it means,” he mumbles out the rest of his sentence.
“Could you repeat that?” Childe asks.
“I said it means that I like you,” Thoma continues. His cheeks are as red as the robes he wears, and he’s holding Childe’s hands, and he’s staring him right in the eyes with all the sincerity he has.
Feeling his own cheeks burst into flames, all Childe can do is say a quiet, “oh.” The heat transmitting from Thoma’s palms to his doesn’t help.
“I’m sorry I stepped over the line,” Thoma visibly deflates as he apologizes once again.
Endless scenarios and possibilities flash through Childe’s mind. The possibilities of a lover’s embrace and the possibilities that there could be someone across the lands of Teyvat that could like someone like him. A person who doesn’t mind his bloodied hands nor his scars. Thoma reveres him, and Childe didn’t know there was such a possibility of such delicate feelings to be had for him.
Just as Thoma begins pulling his hands back, Childe returns the sentiment and grips his with something akin to feelings of want.
“No,” Childe utters. The word naturally forms on his lips, and he’s never said it with such fragility before. Thoma is the first of many experiences for him so far. “I mean, no, you didn’t, because me too,” he lamely ends.
“I mean, you know, I could like you, too. I mean, I do. I do like you, Thoma.” The mortifying feeling of having admitted his feels has Childe attempting to hide his face beneath his bangs as he loses the battle to face Thoma. His hands, however, continue holding Thoma’s with the same certainty.
“Oh, Childe,” Thoma’s voice is drifts closer than before as it whispers itself into Childe’s ears. “Look up, please.”
Per his request, he does and—oh, Thoma is much, much closer than he thought as his forehead nearly touches his. They’re close enough to the point where Childe can count the smattering of freckles that decorate themselves sparsely across his cheeks.
“Would you be mine?” Thoma whispers against the apple of his cheek. The soft heat of his breath sends a familiar feeling of chills running down Childe’s spine. It is the same kind of feeling he gets after finishing an exhilarating battle.
Nodding, Childe replies, “yes,” and on his next breath, Thoma kisses him, pressing his lips against his. They’re a lot softer than Childe anticipates, and he chalks it up due to the humidity of Inazuma. But Childe has never felt more out of his depth than now in this moment.
“Was that okay?” Thoma asks him as he pulls back from him.
Childe smiles as he chases after Thoma. “That was more than okay,” he answers as he kisses Thoma again. Letting go of Thoma’s hands, Childe clamors onto his lap as he the want to get closer to the other man grows stronger. His lips are clumsy in their affair, but Childe’s eagerness makes up for it.
They bask in each other’s embrace as they take a moment to catch their breaths. “I could love you,” Childe quietly admits as he rests his head in the crook of Thoma’s neck.
Thoma laughs at him. The full-body laughter jostles Childe along with it as Thoma starts running a hand through his hair. The last bit of tension Childe didn’t know existed melted away at the first touch of his fingers tangling themselves in his hair.
“I’ll wait for you; for I already love you, you silly man.”