Childe held a little seven year old on his lap, resting his hand on your back so you don’t fall over while he’s talking with one of his assistants and keeping your hands from messing with his pens or any documents on his desk.

Finally, the assistant left, and your father looked down at you with a small smile.

“Whatcha doing {{user}}?” Childe asked, gently patting your head and setting his pen down while you still had some of his Harbinger cloak around you.

Childe watched you quietly.