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Lumine doesn’t expect to find Childe collapsed outside the “Liyue Institute for Toy Research”—but if she had, she certainly wouldn’t have expected to be alarmed by it. And yet she is, to the point where she starts toward him on instinct before realizing what she’s doing. After all of his boasting, after pleading with her not to let Teucer see him like this, she’d thought he would be halfway back to Liyue Harbor by now.
Instead, he’s unconscious behind some disconnected old piping and a crop of crabgrass with his hands caked in mud like he clawed himself there in a last-ditch effort to stay out of view. It’s so pathetic that it’s pitiful.
Paimon is quick to realize what Lumine does. They exchange a look, and then Paimon is by Teucer’s side, encouraging him to continue back to Liyue with her, Xiangling, and Xingqiu while Ms. Nice Lady finishes up some business at the Institute. The boy is still glowing from his tour and eager to play with his new Mr. Cyclops, so it’s easy to convince him. They set off down the sloping path crowded under the umbrella Xingqiu had the good sense to pack.
Anxiety Lumine would prefer not to consciously acknowledge takes over the moment they’re out of sight. She kneels in the grass and reaches for Childe’s wrist. She doesn’t need to, though; he’s visibly breathing, his back lifting and depressing at intervals. She hadn’t thought he was dead, but it’s still something of a relief to confirm that he isn’t. She turns his head slightly anyway so that he doesn’t suffocate himself in the mud.
The rain has been falling since they arrived, but it’s coming down in buckets now. She knows she has to get him out of it. She considers the Institute, but she’s certain they didn’t destroy all of the Ruin Guards inside. If one were to strike, she might not be able to get Childe to safety in time.
Get Childe to safety. Since when has she cared so much for his well-being?
There’s an abandoned lean-to not far from the Institute, sheltered on two sides by cliffs. Slipping her hands under his limp arms, Lumine hoists him off the ground until he bends at the waist. His chin bobs against his chest, mussed copper hair falling over his eyes, thick and heavy with rainwater. She hooks her elbows under his armpits and scrambles backwards, dragging him to the makeshift shelter. It’s in decent enough shape, probably only recently vacated. The red cloth tarp has only a few holes, and Lumine is able to cover them by draping her own tent canvas over the top. Inside, she unrolls her camping mat and pulls Childe onto it.
His clothes are drenched. With a queasy flutter in her stomach, she realizes she’ll have to undress him. She unthreads his scarf from around his neck first, taking her time to wring it out. His mask, boots, and stockings follow—easy stuff. She takes his Vision for good measure and pockets it. Next, her hands move to his shirt collar. She blushes as her fingers dip beneath the fabric. It’s for his own good, she reasons, but that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong when she begins to undo the clasps of his shirt.
Red on white emerges when she takes both sides of the garment into her hands and peels them from his wet skin. It’s too dark to see the extent of his injuries; she rustles around in her bag for her lantern, striking a match to light it. But when she holds the light over him, she recoils.
Childe’s torso is a spread of fresh bruises all the way from his neck to the peak of his hip bones protruding up from his trousers. White scar tissue and the pink ovals of his nipples are the only reprieve from the damage, which curls and bleeds around his sides to his back. Moving the lantern over him, Lumine can see no open wounds, but the tenderness of his skin is made apparent when she accidentally bumps his shoulder in her examination, and he hisses out a breath without waking.
So this is the result of the Foul Legacy Transformation.
Lumine glares at his unconscious form. She has half a mind to shake him awake and berate him for his short-sighted brashness. He hasn’t even recovered from using the Foul Legacy Transformation the time he fought her, yet here he is, doing it again—all for the simple reason of Teucer’s oblivious enjoyment. And it had nearly killed him.
She sets her lantern aside. Modesty be damned, she decides. I won’t let him die here.
She unbuckles his belt and slides it from its loops. Then she gets to work tugging his soaked trousers down his hips and off his legs, leaving him naked save for a pair of black briefs. She tries not to look at them as she follows the line of bruising down to his thighs and past his knees. It tapers away at his calves, but the damage is extensive.
Casting his wet clothes aside, she unfolds a blanket from her pack and throws it over him, tucking the ends around him to seal in the heat. She has a qingxin salve that should help soothe the swelling. It cost her a pretty penny at Bubu Pharmacy, but she’ll be sure to get remuneration from him once he wakes. She ducks her head to her bag and rummages around for the small crystal bottle.
“Look at you, dutifully tending to my injuries as if you were my lovely wife!”
Lumine thrusts her head up so fast that she nearly gives herself whiplash. Childe is awake and watching her, an amused glint playing in his eyes. Once he sees he has her attention, he wriggles under the blanket before settling on his side with a contented sigh. “This is cozy.”
Her hand closes around the bottle of salve at the bottom of her bag. “Glad you’re comfortable,” she bites out.
“Certainly. You make an excellent nurse.”
Lumine grits her teeth and lobs the bottle at him. “Put it on yourself if you have that kind of energy.”
The bottle just barely misses his head, landing harmlessly in the grass beside it. He holds out his hands, laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Please, help me out.”
Lumine raises her eyebrows. “That’s rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think? After I’ve been babysitting for you all day and even pulled your sorry, unconscious body out of the rain.”
Childe rolls onto his back again, fixing his eyes on hers. “I know. Thank you, truly.” He pauses, then: “Where is Teucer?”
“On his way back to Liyue Harbor with my friends. Don’t worry, though—we had the foresight to bring an umbrella. He won’t catch a cold.” She resists the urge to roll her eyes.
The tension in Childe’s shoulders releases. “You’d be a good big sister, you know?”
Lumine turns from him to fumble around in the semidarkness for the bottle of salve so that he can’t see how her cheeks heat. “I don’t want to hear that from the man who almost killed himself to keep up a lie for his brother.” Her fingers close around the bottle, but she pretends to search for it for a few moments longer.
Childe chuckles. “I thought you of all people would understand. You’d do anything for your brother, too, wouldn’t you?”
She settles herself on her knees beside him and unplugs the bottle’s stopper. “I wouldn’t lie to him.” She pushes the blanket down his chest and scoops two fingers into the salve. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed. And then what’s Teucer going to do?”
Childe shivers as she trails the pads of her fingers along his sternum, spreading the salve. Yet he watches them work anyway as if mesmerized by them. It makes her so self-conscious that she nearly stops. But she won’t fold to him.
“Do you think that someday—maybe someday soon—you’ll come to regret saving me?”
The question is abrupt, unprompted, and this time, Lumine does stop. “What?”
He continues, without looking at her, “There may come a time when we have to fight again—”
“Quiet.” Her hand comes down over his mouth before she even realizes what she’s doing, but she doesn’t lift it. She’s tired—tired of his Harbinger persona and tired of his mind games. She saw enough of that in Liyue Harbor and even a trace of it today back in the Institute. But she also saw something else.
“Do you think we’re friends?” she demands. His eyes widen a little. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”
She saw him today unguarded. Even if only for a moment, when Teucer was in danger, she saw him with his walls shattered around his feet.
“Do you think you convinced me not to kill you today back in the factory?” She lifts her hand, leaving a smear of salve on his lips.
It was beautiful—that almost courtly devotion to one he loves.
“You play at being so clever,” she says, “but Signora was right—all you really are is a simple, empty-headed man who can’t figure anything out.”
He was beautiful.
Childe, to her surprise, bristles. “Hey, now. That’s not very nice! Where’s this coming from all of a sudden?”
“Hush,” Lumine snaps, tipping the bottle and pouring a cold slather of salve onto his bare chest, making him shudder. “Listen. Killing you back then wasn’t even on my mind. Do you really think you convinced me not to?”
He flushes, to her amusement, and says nothing. Serves you right, she thinks as she digs around her bag for a roll of bandages.
It isn’t until she’s coaxed Childe into a sitting position and started wrapping his torso that he speaks—huffily—again. “Alright, then. I concede defeat. So what are you going to do after this?”
“After this?” Lumine repeats, pausing in her work. “I’m leaving, of course. You’re a tough guy, aren’t you? You can handle it from here.”
She sounds more exasperated than she intends, but there’s an uncharacteristic tension in his voice when he says, “You’re not worried? Of us fighting again?”
“I already told you—I’m not afraid of you.”
“That’s not—“ He cuts himself off, then smiles sheepishly; Lumine quirks an eyebrow. “Listen, comrade. I wanted to say…”. But he trails off again, this time dodging her gaze.
Lumine pins the bandages at the crease of his waist and then falls back onto her haunches with a sigh. “You better rest up,” she says, “because as soon as the rain stops, we’re leaving. I need my stuff back—and I also expect remuneration for the salve and bandages.”
“Right,” Childe says, laughing a little, but he doesn’t lie back down. He gazes at his bandages instead, picking absently at the layers. Lumine grabs his wrist to stop him.
“Don’t—I won’t… I won’t do it again. You’re not worth it.”
“Oh?” Seeming to have made up his mind about something, Childe suddenly folds her hand into his. She gives a start but doesn’t pull away. “You’re either a kindly nurse or a cruel mistress, and I can’t figure out which.” The mischief has returned to his eyes. “Should I thank you for saving me? Or should I run while I still can?” He tugs on her arm, forcing her to shuffle on her knees toward him. “What do you think, Lumine?”
Lumine tries to jerk her arm away. At the same time, he draws her toward him. She topples forward, and in his weakened state, he can’t support both of them. He ends up on his back on the bedroll, and Lumine barely manages to catch herself on all-fours over him.
“Well,” he chuckles. “This is compromising.”
She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s nothing to the heat emanating from his seminude body. He grins up at her, taking her chin between his fingers and guiding their faces together. “Warm me up, will you? So I don’t catch a cold?”
Lumine knows she should resist—this is Childe, eleventh of the Harbingers and enamored with only slaughter—but her arms and legs have gone weak. His fingertips on her skin are like fire as he slowly closes the distance between them.
She doesn’t stop him.
His lips are warm. She doesn’t know why that’s what she focuses on, but she does. They’re warm and soft and pliable to the ministrations of her tongue. Because suddenly, she’s kissing him.
They break apart after only a moment. Lumine rolls off of him, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.
Childe’s cheeks are red—with sudden fever or—
“Don’t cross paths with me again,” he says in a rush of words. “The Tsaritsa may want you dead soon enough, and it would absolutely break my heart to betray her.”
Lumine staggers to her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, though she hardly knows if she’s telling him or herself. She lifts the canvas and steps outside. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she declares. “You better be asleep when I’m back. Like I said, we’re leaving when the rain stops.”
Childe slides back onto the bedroll and thrusts his arm over his eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lumine steps into the rain, hardly caring how it pelts against her. She scrubs at her face with the heels of her palms. Even with the wind that accompanies the rain, her cheeks still blaze hot.
At least, she thinks, looking up at the sky, the rain will continue a while longer yet.