Honkai: Star Rail oneshots

🟡 [renluo] for the meantime

cw: Blade/Luocha, implied/referenced self-harm, hurt/comfort, fluff

inspired by this art of Blade's in-game technique https://x.com/_ke_da_ma_/status/1766458388643508670 ❤️‍🔥

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"All done."

Blade pulls back, silent. Luocha has grown accustomed to his thanklessness; whether that's due to the lingering pain (he's not a miracle worker, after all, and if Blade's self-healing was that efficient he would have never resigned himself to receiving treatment), or just the Hunter's sullen disposition, Luocha has stopped holding it against him. Never did, really, but Blade is always fun to tease. So maybe he'll take that in place of thanks.

He watches Blade reach for a new pair of gloves. The ones he was wearing—just one, actually—Luocha has had to cut apart to separate from his battered flesh. And that was on Blade's sword-wielding hand. Luocha can infer the reason the gloves are so short, barely extending beyond the base of Blade's palm... and why the left one has been replaced by bandages, permanently. He holds back a sigh.

Blade pulls one glove over his right hand. It still fits, because Luocha has dressed said hand as lightly as sound medical practice would have allowed. He has tried to do the same thing with the other hand, but, expectedly, Blade doesn't bother with the left glove.

Even though Luocha knows what's wrong, he still asks, "What's wrong? Need me to remove a few layers?"

"'S fine." Blade's voice is gruff from infrequent use. He flexes his left fingers only—because the rest of that hand is stiffly bandaged, to keep from disturbing the wounds on his wrist. "This is already like a glove."

"That's more often the case than not for your left hand, hm?" Luocha nudges. He keeps a close eye on Blade's expression, but there's nothing (yet) to indicate that he should back off. "Why buy the left glove?"

"... Because they're only sold in pairs?"

"But still, that's a waste of money, no?"

Blade frowns. In the past this would have been where he stopped entertaining Luocha, but recently he has become remarkably patient. Luocha suddenly wonders if this is another manifestation of his thanks.

"What's it to you?" Blade says. "Not like you're going to wear it."

That gives Luocha the idea. "I will."

"No. No—" Blade tries to twist away from him, but obviously he's in no shape to fend anyone off. Luocha plucks the glove from him with ease, takes full advantage of Blade's rare defenselessness.

"Look." He replaces his left glove with Blade's one, then wriggles his fingers at the other man. "It fits. Like a glove."

"Ha, ha. Give it back," Blade growls, but it's all bark. (Luocha is still taking care not to push him to bite, of course.)

"So you will wear it."

"Not right now."

"Then let me."

"I will wear it! There's just no point in wearing it right now. It hurts, and it's obstructive and annoying when I have to— when I—" Blade sighs sharply. He turns away from Luocha, perhaps realizing the more he says, the deeper the hole he's dug for himself will grow. Still, that was enough. And it's not as if they don't know what he was trying to say. Luocha just wanted to make him acknowledge it.

There is a restlessness about Blade when Luocha comes close. He touches him with just his fingertips at first, to ensure he doesn't scare Blade away. "It hurts?" He traces the bandages on the back of Blade's hand, follows the natural length of his bones down to his wrist. There his fingers curl around the tightly wrapped joint, imagine the pulse somewhere underneath. The bandages feel rough against his caressing thumb.

"Why wouldn't it?" Blade mutters. Everything does nowadays, his tone seems to say. Luocha hums sympathetically; he brings Blade's hand up close, presses his lips to the back of his wrist.

"There are so many things that can hurt you already. You don't have to do it as well." The reminder hangs lightly in the air. Luocha places Blade's hand down, but doesn't let go, and neither does the Hunter shake him off. Their fingers slip in between one another, not quite a hold, but close enough to share warmth. Luocha carries on tracing tiny patterns onto the bandages.

Eventually, it's Blade who breaks the silence. "Are you really going to wear my glove?"

"Sure," Luocha says. He's almost forgotten about that. "Why?" He looks up at Blade, a smile starting to tug at the corners of his mouth. "Are you worried people will notice?"

"I'm not 'worried,'" Blade says rightaway. He frowns again. "... Do whatever you want." All of that makes Luocha chuckle out loud. "What!?"

That feels like a rhetorical question, so Luocha doesn't bother explaining himself. "Then, I'll keep it until you are healed enough to wear it again. Deal?" In a bout of spontaneity, he hooks his pinky finger around Blade's. The way the other man stares at him makes Luocha doubt for a moment whether the Xianzhou people even have this tradition—until Blade huffs loudly and returns the gesture.

"... Deal."