{Zhongchili} what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, right?

fellas, is it gay to hold your friend's hand while he peels you oranges?

Zhongli runs his hands through Childe's hair one last time before leaving for the kitchen.

Childe sighs as he's left alone staring at the ceiling. He misses Zhongli's steady presence beside him already. He fiddles with his hands as he awaits his return.

He remembers the weight of the god's hand on top of his own, how something as small as holding hands could fill him with so much warmth. Zhongli's touch was grounding in the way that he felt like it tied his soul to the earth. He can't help the stupid smile or the giddy feeling in his chest.

There he is now, smiling serenely as he carefully carries a bowl of soup his way. Childe can't help but beam back at him.

"Be careful, it's hot," he warns as he settles the bowl down on Childe's nightstand.

Zhongli is always beautiful, but something warm spreads within Childe as he watches Zhongli sit down lightly on the edge of his bed before blowing softly on the bowl of soup, stirring it around with the pair of chopsticks in his hands.

Childe can do nothing but sit back and watch as Zhongli continues to tend to the soup. He only wishes he could currently breathe through his nose and smell it, but he'll take what he can get. His other hand looks a little empty, so Childe decides to take it into his own. Zhongli, being the gorgeous thing he is, looks positively radiant when he smiles in return.

Perhaps it's a foolish move for a Harbinger. The life of a Fatuus is a solitary one, as someone of his rank knows particularly well. But Childe can't help but yearn for the comfort of another now. Perhaps it was the way he was looking at him or the way Childe could feel the warmth of the soup radiating from its bowl. Whatever it was, Childe felt safe and secure, despite the battles his body was currently fighting. If all fails, he'll just blame it on the poison later.

"Childe," Zhongli says now, holding out the chopsticks, "I believe the soup is at a consumable temperature. Here, have some."

Childe takes the chopsticks enthusiastically, only to frown when he can't manage to get a solid grip on them. Seriously, had he spent all those months practicing only to still fail to properly wield the utensils?

He gives Zhongli a look.

"Spare a man some dignity, hm?" he says with a sigh. "Would you really let a sick man suffer like this?"

Zhongli chuckles, before taking the chopsticks in his own hands. Childe expects him to leave again and come back with a fork or spoon, but Zhongli simply dips the chopsticks into the bowl, resurfacing with a piece of meat in between them.

"It would be a pity if you were unable to fully appreciate Liyue's gastronomy the way it was intended," Zhongli says with a frown.

Childe has heard this time and time again, practically every time he complains about being unable to use chopsticks (which is embarrassingly often,). Still, he finds himself unable to resist that pouty look on Zhongli's face. He sighs, ready to continue struggling. But then Zhongli brings the chopsticks to Childe's lips as if beckoning him to eat.

Oh.

Childe finds himself hesitating. He was not fond of the idea of being fed by someone else. To be able to feed oneself was a basic human ability, one that he was perfectly capable of performing.

He reaches again for the chopsticks, and Zhongli gives him a look as if to say, 'Really? You're going to use chopsticks?'

Oh, this was cruel. Childe's stomach growls at an embarrassing decibel, which Zhongli snorts at.

Fine.

He sighs and takes the food that is offered. Zhongli smiles again.

The warm meat practically melts into his mouth as the flavor of the broth erases any memory of bile or harsh poisons. Zhongli is ready with another piece, this time a vegetable, and Childe goes after it immediately like a baby bird.