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There's a certain pleasure in being accompanied by a Fatui Harbinger. Childe cuts through the enemies like the paper they are, and once the room is clear he looks around like a kid would stare at an empty box of chocolates, sad that there are none left.
Lumine finds his cheerful social mask grating but he looks like a living tempest in battle. Something pure. He fights with a kind of ruthless grace that borders on artistry and Lumine can appreciate mastery when she sees it.
She always thought it beautiful when a person could live up to their truest self. Sacred, almost. She travels for witnessing moments like this.
Right now, though, he's perched atop a crate with his back pressed to the wall and eyes shut, like some kind of dozing sentinel. Lumine is resting at an adjacent wall in a similar manner. The domain they are stuck in keeps rearranging, spawning portals and new rooms full of monsters and exquisite craftsmanship (perhaps someone more knowledgeable in Inazuman history would recognise the exact time period). The last portal separated them from Xinyan and Paimon and now the only thing to do is wait.
Lumine uses it as an opportunity to stare.
He's almost cute, just rarely sits still long enough for her to notice. Even the signature Fatui dark eye circles look good on him.
"You leave too many openings," Childe remarks suddenly, eyes still closed.
"Says the person who lost a fight to me."
He lets the jab slip.
"I mean it."
"Of course you do." He got her curious, she'll give him that.
"Want me to show you?"
Childe jumps off the crate. Stretching, he moves closer to the center of the room and graces her with a smile. It seems almost sincere, a little too wide perhaps. She glances at him, confused.
"Come on," he makes a beckoning gesture, voice tinged with the faintest hint of displeasure. "I'm being nice here."
Is he... offering to train her now?
Lumine slides off her seat and approaches cautiously.
"Now hit me." He's suddenly serious.
She does.
He parries the attack, materialising a water blade just in time to slide her sword off it, she dodges the counter and almost lands a blow on him (somehow he isn't there when it's supposed to connect), a Hydro shield shimmers into existence to meet another attack.
A blade dives into her side, dissipating into mist once it touches her. Lumine shivers from the cold.
"I gather most things don't survive long enough around you to use it," Childe looks awfully smug. "But I did."
Lumine tries to think where she slipped. He stares back with dull eyes.
"Care to explain?" she finally asks.
Childe hesitates for a moment, looking her up and down, then moves past her, trying to step behind her back. Lumine turns.
"Hey," he sounds offended. "You asked."
She lets him this time.
He's close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him and to catch a whiff of his scent, a mix of sweat and something distinctly his own. A tang of sea, perhaps. She likes it, Lumine notices with displeasure.
His hand hovers over her forearm, voice weaving into the space between them.
"May I?"
"Mhm," she nods. Gloved fingers wrap above her wrist.
"All right. This move."
He guides her arm to repeat a semblance of the strike. Lumine wonders if he understands what he has just revealed. Reckless fools don't memorise other people's attacks.
"Not completely wrong," he seems excited to explain. "But you leave a space you never hit on your right. It's bad form."
His hand moves to adjust her elbow.
"You should try it like this."
Lumine repeats the blow mechanically.
It's not that her technique is poor, she realises. There's a person she's used to having by her side. She's leaving that space for him, just as she still keeps the sweetest valberries for last and searches for seasoning herbs, and astronomy charts, and poems that are too long for her.
...and now that person doesn't want to see her anymore.
"Footwork," Childe nudges the side of her boot with the tip of his, oblivious to her thoughts. She obliges, performing the motion.
"Same with the next strikes."
Those she manages to figure out herself.
"Not bad," he sounds awfully pleased.
He steps back, looking at her with a weird glint in his eyes and launches an attack without warning. Lumine parries, parries again, a flurry of water and electricity devastating what was still left of the furniture in the room, and this time no blows land.
Childe smiles, the wild glint in his eyes still there, weapons dissolving in the air.
"That wasn't hard, was it?"
Despite his cockiness, she's grateful. He could have kept this knowledge to himself and she really can't afford to lose harder battles. Yet she still doesn't want to part with some things. As if keeping that space could lure Aether back to her. It's foolish.
The domain rearranges again, throwing another wave of monsters at them, and Lumine shifts back to her old stance, clinging to the comfort of it, letting herself be stubborn for a little while longer.
Childe shows no displeasure but she notices he keeps to her right side now, almost falling in sync with her. His fighting style is different from Aether's, but still... there's a familiarity in that.
There it is again. The softer side of him. She saw a glimpse of it with Teucer and in how he talked about the Tsaritsa with a gentleness she didn't expect. A flash of something more human beneath the surface.
Does it really extend to her, she wonders.
She chases the thought away before it can take root.
It's not long until a disgusting sound of monster's bones breaking followed by Childe's delighted laughter pulls her back to reality, and Lumine remembers what he is, beyond the ruthlessness and the softness.
Perhaps this boy is the Abyss's way to set up a meeting with her. A strange one at that.
She feels a chill at the thought, like a space opened somewhere, a possibility she doesn't want to think of.
Not now, at least.
*
She smells of blood and night sky in winter.
And thunderstorms, electricity weaving between the water of his attacks. A third element — he's falling behind — and a newfound ability to strategise, she's different from the last time he met her. Carrying herself like she has abandoned hope in the best way possible, intent on wrangling something from the world by stubbornness alone.
He gets no response to his provocations, her mind too focused on something he cannot know. No breach in her detachment unlike her stance.
Yet, she showers him with courtesies he didn't expect. Lies to her friends ("he's just someone we met in Mondstadt") and lets him join.
Tartaglia accepts it with gratitude. He gets to play an adventurer for a few hours and to see her fight.
It looks good on her, being all disheveled, hair like a halo, blood splattered across her white dress (he's sure it's not just him. she simply looks good in red). Her moves are still collected and deceptively effortless, the simplicity, he now knows, hides more strength than it seems.
He would prefer it directed at him but this is the next best thing.
He gets to catch glimpses of more as she dances between three Heralds, the delighted almost feral grin as she raises her arm to send electricity scattering all over the room. It makes him think things he shouldn't.
He really would prefer this directed at him. He'd draw more out of her.
She refuses to use a perfectly learned move and he knows enough at this point to not assume it's pride. A habit of relying on friends, perhaps. Just as dangerous as pride, if you ask him.
Well, he offered.
He wonders when will they next get to cross blades.
He can't wait.