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Childe has bones that haven’t set properly.
Nobody knows, though not for lack of trying on Dottore’s part. Childe will never trust him enough to let him anywhere near his body. When he’s injured, he’ll take care of it himself. Now that he’s in Liyue, he’s got Baizhu, who probably suspects something. It doesn’t matter. They’re small, inconsequential, but they still hurt sometimes. Usually in the cold and damp, which is why he spends as much time away from his home as he can. Going back means embracing pain, which he isn’t against, but it dredges up memories and experiences that he’s still trying to bury even now.
Don’t get him wrong, he’ll never stop fighting, never stop trying to reach peak strength, to be more powerful than the things he’s still running from, but some days he just wants to … not be in pain.
When he wakes, he knows it’s gonna be a bad day. His joints protest, his arm throbbing, and he bites at the pillow so he doesn’t wake up Zhongli. Archons—it hurts.
Breathe. Two. Three. Breathe.
Eventually, his body settles into a dull ache and he can move, gently shuffling to the end of the bed. A look over his shoulder; Zhongli is still asleep, one hand curled against the sheets, the other tucked under his head. Childe smiles fondly. Zhongli has obviously been Childe-watching again. His xiansheng is a creeper.
Childe laughs quietly and then pushes to his feet. Still time to get into the right headspace before Zhongli wakes and tries to take care of him. When Zhongli asks him quietly why he doesn’t like it, Childe can’t find the words. He doesn’t hate it, in fact he preens under the attention Zhongli decides to lavish on him and him alone, but it’s uncomfortable. He’s not used to it.
It feels— Weird.
Wanted, but weird.
Standing in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, Childe tries not to grimace. He looks fine, though his hair is a little tousled, and he has bags under his eyes. Nothing Zhongli hasn’t seen before. If he can get through breakfast, there’s time to grab something from Baizhu for the pain. When he’s done with the Bank and work, they’ll have worked well for his return home.
Perfect.
As usual, his plan goes to shit as soon as he’s finished dressing. He forgets that Zhongli likes to cook breakfast for the both of them — and they have to use chopsticks. It’s not until he’s standing in the kitchen, staring at the spread Zhongli’s already started laying onto the table, that he realises he’s going to have to get around this.
“Can we go out?” Childe asks. He winces internally, hoping that Zhongli doesn’t assume he’s talking about his cooking. Childe always appreciates the time Zhongli puts into cooking.
Zhongli looks up from the teapot he’s settling on the table. “Of course,” he says immediately. “Are you unwell?”
Childe’s heart aches. Zhongli always manages to throw him off kilter with a few simple words. How does he always get to the root of the matter without hesitation?
“Why is your first thought always that I’m sick?”
“Are you not?” Zhongli frowns. “The only time you ask to eat out for breakfast is when the smell makes you nauseous—or you can’t use—“ Zhongli pauses.
Childe is stunned. “Zhongli–”
In a beat, Zhongli is across the room, one hand on Childe’s elbow, the other against his cheek. He stares, turning Childe’s face gently, as if he can find a wealth of answers in a simple glance. “You are in pain.”
Childe doesn’t cry, though his eyes definitely burn. “How do you even know that?”
“Because I know you, Ajax,” Zhongli says softly. TSomething in Childe breaks at the use of his real name, and he leans into the touch, despite the voice telling him he doesn’t need the comfort or the help. “I know when you wake in the middle of the night, when you try to stay quiet so that I can sleep a little longer in the mornings. I appreciate that you are trying to stay strong, but I hope that someday you realise leaning on somebody else is a strength in itself.”
“I don’t think I’m weak for loving you, xiansheng,” Childe says quietly. The words aren’t scary or overwhelming; they just are. “I just don’t know how to do it.”
Zhongli leans in, kisses Childe gently, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “I will let Ekaterina know you will not be overexerting yourself today.”
“But—“
“When you are no longer in pain,” Zhongli continues, voice holding the touch of authority that speaks to his Godhood, “I will spar with you myself.”
Childe relaxes against Zhongli’s hold a little more, meeting his eyes with a small grin. “Promise?”
“As solid as stone,” Zhongli agrees.
Dropping his forehead to Zhongli’s chest, Childe lets out a soft noise when Zhongli’s fingers scratch through the hairs at the nape of his neck. “Fine. Maybe a little help.”
Zhongli’s laugh is beautiful, and Childe’s fingers clutch at his hip, afraid that he will disappear if Childe lets go.
“Anything, baobei,” Zhongli says, and there is the warmth of his kiss against the top of Childe’s head. “Come on. To bed.”
Childe allows himself to be led back to the bedroom, giving in to the pain still aching through barely healed bones and old injuries. “Thank you.”
“It is nothing for the person—“
“Zhongli,” Childe says, knowing it’s rude to cut Zhongli off, but he needs to make Zhongli understand. He touches a hand to Zhongli’s chest. “Thank you. For—for looking at me.”
And seeing me, he can’t say.
“You never have to thank me for loving you, Childe.” Zhongli holds him, nose to Childe’s temple. “I see everything and I love every part.”
Even the Abyss parts?
“Even the Abyss parts,” Zhongli says, as though he can hear Childe’s thoughts.
“Zhongli.” Childe doesn’t know what else to say, just clings to Zhongli and hopes this is something he finally gets to hold on to.