DJ got us falling in luv

without even realizing that he had drifted off, childe wakes up some time later to the sound of rain thumping hard against fabric and a quiet but panicked "oh, archons, i can't just leave him like this." looking up with exhausted, unfocused eyes, he first looks past your face and up at the umbrella shielding him from the freezing rain.

ah. what a kind gesture, he thinks. a cute little stranger offering up a moment's solace to him as he tries to ignore the dull throbbing behind his eyes and the ache in his muscles. were he in better condition, he'd make some teasing remark of "what's a sweet little thing like you doing out in weather like this, helping out a guy like me?" though the dryness of his mouth and the exhaustion fogging up his mind prevent him from doing so.

perhaps you read his mind. "i was out looking for mushrooms because there's this certain species that sprouts up when it storms, and i had found you like this, and..." you trail off nervously, and he wonders if you feel like you've intervened when you shouldn't have or somehow offended him. what if he thinks you're taking pity on him and get angry? "well... i couldn't leave you like this, not in your... condition."

your eyes dart down to the wound on his leg and you grimace; that has to hurt. "you can't leave that wound like that, it'll get infected..." you whisper, and childe can't help but smile at the way you're almost scolding him like a schoolteacher. "here, i always have some herbs on me, a few medicinal ones too..."

"oh, hey, you don't have to⁠—" childe finally speaks for the first time when you kneel on the ground in front of him, mud surely staining your leggings and rain dripping off the umbrella and down onto your back because of how you're holding it further over him than yourself. i'll be fine, he wants to tell you. you think a little gash like that is enough to take me out for good?

he gives the slightest wince when you gently press a few grounded leaves into his wound, but it does soothe the dull, buzzing pain he had felt just a few moments prior. it's soothing like aloe on a sunburn, and he stays silent as you continue to treat him. it'd be rude to refuse the care of a stranger who had gone out of their way to share something as valuable as medicinal herbs with him, and he's finding it difficult to muster up the energy to speak anyways. he lets you tend to his wounds as you hum a little something under your breath, and he wouldn't be ashamed to admit that he just cannot pull his eyes away from you.

even in the dim light of dusk, he can make out the features of your face⁠— the swoop and curve of your nose, the flush of your eyelashes against your cheeks, and the purse of your lips as you continue to do your work. perhaps fatui work has made him slightly cynical over the years because he almost can't believe that a stranger is tending to him with so much care⁠— there was absolutely nothing stopping you from pretending like you didn't see him and walking right on your merry way, yet you stopped to tend to him anyways. there was nothing stopping you from keeping yourself dry with your umbrella, yet here you are, holding it completely over him and allowing the cold rainwater to mess up your hair and run down your back anyways. you didn't have to help him, yet you did and you are.

perhaps there are pleasures in life greater than the conquest of battle, he begins to wonder as you finish tying the bandage around his leg before moving to the gash across his abs. childe chuckles a little when you hesitantly pull his shirt open a little wider to give yourself better access to the problem area, and he doesn't miss the way you look to the side as you gently rub the herbs against the wound on his abs. how cute; what's got you so shy all of a sudden?

"i won't ask you about what happened," you say softly. "it's none of my business; you don't know me, and i don't know you."

"but..." you continue. "i think you should take better care of yourself. you can't let wounds like these get infected; then they're a real pain⁠— pun not intended⁠— to deal with."

childe lets out a breathless chuckle, but bites his lip when you begin to rub a different sort of antiseptic leaf against his wound. "alright, alright," he murmurs. "point taken. it won't happen again." he's lying, it will happen again as long as he continues to chase after stronger and stronger opponents, but like you said⁠— you don't know him, and he doesn't know you.

a part of him would like to know you, though. in a world marred by political conquest, conflict, and suffering, you're someone who's optimistic and kind enough to tend to a complete and total stranger in the freezing rain, and some part of him just can't help but feel that you'd be someone worth keeping around. not just for your clear medical expertise, but for your heart and tender touch⁠; he'd like to hear that hummed song of yours one more time.

"there. that should do it," you finally say, going to stand back up as you push your roll of bandages back into your pouch. "the rain's stopping now, so i need to go find what i came for. if you're not from around here, liyue's about 20 kilometers that way⁠—" you point to the east, "and you can get a meal and a place to stay there."

you're gone with a smile before childe can so much as say thank you, running towards a thick patch of trees to surely hunt for mushrooms as you had originally intended to.

and just like that, you're gone, and childe's left with a feeling he can't quite name, but if he had to liken it to a familiar emotion.... perhaps 'desire' would fit. this isn't like the excitement battle brings or the comfort a warm pot of soup provides, this is a need as innate and basic as water and sleep. a blip of light in a world that he had viewed as little more than something he wishes to control⁠— what's the point in standing at the top of the world if you're alone?

it doesn't take him long to discover who you are. your name, your occupation (internship at the bubu pharmacy; that was pretty much a given), where you live, all of that. it's crazy what fatui intel can provide for him, and it's even crazier what kind of things he's just now realizing that he can do know that he knows your name and address. at first, he had sent but a single 'thank you' letter without a return address, alongside a little pouch of mora to pay you back for your troubles (he figures those sorts of herbs aren't cheap when purchased and difficult to find when foraged), but he quickly moved to grander and greater ventures. gifts he figures you could use at work to help make your life a little easier, new clothes (he didn't miss the way your tights were torn across one knee when you tended to him) to keep you warm throughout the winters and cool throughout the summers, food deliveries (at one point he had ordered everything on the menu since he wasn't sure what your allergies or dislikes were), that sort of thing.

without so much as a return address for you to send either a 'thank you' in return or, archon forbid, a 'why are you doing this' to, you're left with essentially no choice but to accept his gifts; to accept his love. childe had made it clear early on that he was absolutely smitten with the kindness you showed him that day and how he'd absolutely love to meet you again once the time is right, so it's clear that these are the offerings of a 'secret' admirer rather than the gifts of a man looking to pay you back for a favor. you don't even get to ask how he knows your exact sizes when he buys you clothes, how he always seems to pick out your favorite dishes when he orders takeout for you, and how he knows exactly what herbs you're running low on at home when he sends you restocks. you don't even get to ask why he loves you so much when all you did was show him the same basic kindness you'd show to any wounded, exhausted stranger on the street, you don't get to ask him what he means by 'when the time is right,' you don't get to ask him why he just can't seem to get his mind off of you.

you also receive tons and tons of gifts that are things you could never realistically buy on your own. expensive jewelry that involves rings that look a little too close to wedding bands, clothes made of material far finer than anything you've ever laid a hand on, expensive ingredients and herbs that are kept under lock and key at the pharmacy, that sort of thing⁠— and you can't return them because (a) you don't know where that man is or (b) where he even acquired these things in the first place. most of them are foreign goods, save for a few herbs and cooking ingredients; the jewelry looks like it's from mondstadt and some of the clothing looks like it's from fontaine, and it's not like you're going to make the journey to neighboring nations just to return some goods. childe's gifts are overwhelming⁠— at first, his gifts appeared bi-weekly, then weekly, then daily, then hourly; you've often returned home to a doorstep overflowing with packages and a mailbox stuffed full of letters.

do you feel the time is right for us to meet again? one of his letters asks one day. i'll be in liyue in about two weeks; how about we meet up and get a meal, my treat?

after all, you read, clutching the paper a little tighter. i still have yet to pay you back for your kindness.