After a Fight

     Blood on top of snow resembles flowers.

     At least that’s how Dominik had always thought of it, deep within the Snezhnayan tundra. Against such stark white, blood was impossible to miss: scattered drops of crimson peeking through the ground like bulbs awaiting spring. A bit tragic, in a way, spring came and went, but the snow never melted. In the Tsaritza’s land, there was only white, a willing canvas, silently awaiting an artist’s hand.

     And for Dominik, that was the man fighting against him.

     “Too slow!”

     Childe had mastered the art of war long ago: his first attack swung a hydro sword at Dominik, who managed to side-step to avoid it. On the other hand, its twin blade was just a tad faster, it managed to chip at Dominik’s jaw, sending a couple more drops of blood scattered through the snow. Nothing Dominik couldn’t handle, but it would have been worse without a warning. Good thing Dominik was a good listener.

     “You talk too much,” Dominik shot back, voice sharp in the heat of battle.

     By the third attack, the man lowered his body and raised his sword, electro sending sparks through the air as he charged against the Fatui. Their weapons collided, electricity and water dancing around each as their masters tried to take the upper hand. But they were both evenly matched and as much as one pushed and the other pulled, the blades stayed the same. Dominik’s gaze connected with Tartaglia’s, immovable object versus unstoppable force. Unspoken, they withdrew their attacks, calling it for the night.

     Childe, still absolutely drunk with the adrenaline of battle, spit red into the ground. Even through the blood, and even through the ache in his muscles, he was smiling. He reached an unarmed hand towards his partner:

      “Great fight, comrade.”

     Dominik smiled back, a gentler admission of victory. Not one to turn an invitation down, he linked their fingers together.

     Sparring was supposed to be part of their training, but it had become so much more than that. Through the years both men had known each other, they found this to be one of the best activities to release stress. With a strong blade and enough room where there wasn’t any need to hold back, they could test their abilities and help each better their fighting styles. The aftermath of sparring was an important part of it too, and they were both already prepared: a couple of meters away rested their campsite, where there was a healing kit and food ready and waiting.

     “I could go on forever, you know?” Childe purred, throwing himself on top of the furs that lay inside their tent. Dominik followed suit. Neither of them had let go of the other’s hand.

     “I’m surprised you’re not using your bow today,” Dominik said, a smirk growing on his features.

     The redhead let out a dramatic sigh, “I will get better at it– I am, actively. It’s just been a while since I’ve had a proper fight with a sword.”

     “Your hydro blades are sturdier,” Dominik hummed. He reached across him to grab one of their backpacks, securing a roll of bandages. “They felt harder to pierce through. Like actual iron.”

     Tartaglia perked. “Ah, you think so?”

     “I do,” a hum. The man measured about a meter from the roll of bandages and then checked it against Tartaglia’s arm. There was a small set of scissors in their first-aid kit, and he used it to secure himself a perfect amount, “would you come closer for a second? Your arm’s seen better days?”

     “It’s seen worse,” Childe waived his hand, trying to brush it off. “I might have pushed it too much with the blades. Some cuts could use a cleaning. They’re right…” he trailed the word off, then brushed his fingers around Dominik’s cheek. “here,” he purred.

     Despite the red tinging his skin, Dominik chose to ignore it, “You kind of need your arm to heal me, you know? Arm first, then you can patch me up, deal?”

     “Fine, fine,”  finally, the redhead shifted his body, allowing for a better reach of his arm. They were both nuzzled together, and Child rested his chin on Dominik’s shoulder. “Just saying, I’m not exactly the easiest of patients.”

     “Trust me,” Dominik’s smile was warm. “I know.”

     None of them were healers by trade, but first-aid was something that any warrior learned through their years– wherever willingly or not. Getting hurt was just a natural part of fighting, and though the pain became easier and easier to deal with the more they got to know the battlefield, the treatment stayed safe. One could not fight if an infection took place, so knowing how to treat an open cut was just as important as a fatal wound. Today, and thankfully, there were only dealing with minor scratches.

     “If we’re both patching each other up” Childe kept running his mouth, patiently watching his lover work, “who’s the doctor and who’s the nurse?”

     Dominik rolled his eyes, playful. “I’m the doctor, you’re the patient.”

     The redhead leaned forward, brushing his lips across the side of his face.

     “Are you sure?” he asked, planting a kiss on the man’s temple. “I think I’d make one killer nurse.”

     “Maybe you would be a killer nurse,” Dominik snorted. Still, he returned the favor, tilting his face to kiss Childe on the cheek.

     “I haven’t even started patching you up and you’re accusing this nurse of medical malpractice?” A kiss on the tip of Dominik’s nose. “How low you’ve fallen, comrade.”

     “Oh, shut up.”

     The bandaging was done. Dominik had cleaned it with a clean piece of fabric and some water he’d been given by one of the maids in the Tsaritsa’s palace. The actual bandages were snug around the wound on Childe’s arm– not a perfect job, but it would keep the harbinger’s arm protected and comfortable, which was the only thing he cared about.

     “There, good as new.”

     Tartaglia hummed, face buried in Dominik’s hair for a second. Slowly, he stepped back.

     “Alright, then,” he said, and now it was his turn to dig through their backpack. He pulled out more bandages and an assortment of little patches, bottles, and ointments. “Turn around and face away from me, I’m gonna be sitting behind you.”

     “Yes, nurse,” he chuckled. Every single one of his words was a gentle tease. “I won’t assume malpractice, promise. But be careful with me, alright?”

     “Always, handsome.”

     Tartaglia’s movements were more calculated, more smooth, and overall surprisingly gentle. Of course, Tartaglia was the one who most often would be found hurt in battle, but Dominik suspected that his medical expertise came more from pride than anything else. After all, if there was something to do, Childe would always strive to do it correctly. Just one more thing for Dominik to admire.

     “Does that feel okay?” the redhead asked, hand slowly tracing over Dominik’s jaw. The clean cloth wiped away any crimson and purified the wound.

     “Yes, actually,” Dominik replied, leaning into the touch. “You’re pretty good at this.”

     “I do what I can,” Childe purred, clearly taking well to the compliment. Then, like he had just remembered, “by the way, there’s a mission coming up.”

     “Oh?”

     Behind him, Tartaglia sighed. “Well, mission might be a bit of a stretch. Remember Yoimiya?”

     “Do I?” Dominik chuckled.

     A lite Inazuman girl, with golden hair and a golden heart. And an addiction to pyromania, according to what Childe had recounted. Tales like those were hard to forget, of monsters and visions, demons and beans. Whenever traveling to a place that Dominik did not follow, Childe would bring back a bag of presents and dozens of stories to match. Yoimiya’s pyromaniac antics just so happened to be one of them, and with how positively the harbinger talked about her, she sounded like a fun gal.

     “Got a letter in the mail. There’s some stuff going on over there. She didn’t say it outright, but from what I gathered, it might be related to a certain missing gnosis.”

     “Oh,” Dominik whispered, feeling a rush of cold. These were serious news.

     Feeling him tense up in his arms, Childe gave Dominik’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

     “Or not,” he soothed. “It is worth investigating, though. Pulcinella already signed off on it so this trip will be happening yes or yes. The thing is,” a kiss right behind Dominik’s ear. “I’m thinking less business, more pleasure. How about trying that dango for yourself?”

     Just like that, he was relaxed again. The idea of a vacation with his lover was already swimming in his mind.

     “And mochi,” Dominik offered. “That is also with sakura leaves, yes? The chewy rice… what, dessert?”

     “Right. And something savory, too,” Childe sighed with the memory, “There was a certain ramen spot on the street that still has a piece of my heart.”

     Dominik let out a laugh. “You really are food motivated, huh?”

     “And you aren’t?” Childe pouted. Then, a pause, “Is that a no?”

     “Hm,” the man managed to sneak a kiss on his lover’s knuckles. “I didn’t say that.”

     “Perfect. I can’t wait! It’s a date.”

     A silly statement, to call such a long trip a date, but Dominik did not comment on it. Instead, he let himself be treated by such gentle hands. And his mind started drifting.

     They kept at it, the harbinger’s hands gentle over Dominik’s skin, a comfortable silence washing over them. It felt pretty good: the intimate touch, the whisper of the wind outside their tent, the warmth of their Warming Bottle in the corner. There was no need to talk when all he had to do was relax. At one point, he felt his body leaning into his lover’s, and there was a sort of weight pulling at his muscles…

     “Dominik,” Childe’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you falling asleep?”

     “Hm?” He croaked out, opening the eyes that he hadn’t realized had been closed for the past couple of minutes. The man tried to sit up, shake the sleep away, but Childe’s hands pressed him back down to his laying position.

     “Hey, easy there,” he hummed. His fingers kept ghosting over Dominik’s face, wounds long patched up and comfortable. “You can fall asleep if you want to, comrade. I’ll wake you back if something happens”

     “Weren’t we going to have dinner?” Dominik asked, but his body was slowly melting back into place. His position in between Childe’s legs, back pressed against his chest– it was like their bodies had been molded to fit together.

     “Dinner’s not going anywhere,” Childe insisted. “If you’re tired, you can rest.”

     “Ah, but I’m not,” Dominik mumbled. His traitorous body was already curling up against the warmth of his boyfriend’s chest. “I’m not tired. Not tired at all”

     Tartaglia leaned down, placing a kiss on his partner’s forehead. With such tender show of affection, Dominik felt himself floating on a cloud.

     “Sleep,” he whispered. Dominik couldn’t see from his position, but Childe was smiling. He could hear it in his voice, “I’ve got you.”

     Comfortable and safe, Dominik closed his eyes.