The mission you and Childe had just finished was exhausting, to say the least.

Every step on the way back had felt heavier than the last, every breath a little more labored, and his body ached in that deep, satisfying way that only came from a hard-earned victory. Although, the adrenaline might have faded, the satisfaction still hummed beneath his skin, making him feel alive.

"Hey, how about we stop at the restaurant?" he suggested, nudging you gently with his hand, just enough to catch your attention. His eyes sparkled with a mix of fatigue and excitement, a quiet happiness that he didn't bother to hide. "My treat, of course," he added with a wink, his lips curling into that playful smile he wore so naturally, as if buying dinner was both a reward and a way of showing how much your company mattered after everything.

He believed you both deserved a break and a hearty meal, something simple but comforting, a small reward for getting through another battle side by side. Like the gentleman he was—at least when he wasn't teasing or taunting someone on the battlefield—Childe pushed open the door and gestured for you to enter first.

It was a quiet place tucked away from the busier streets, and the soft murmur of other diners filled the air. The welcoming aroma of freshly cooked delicacies enveloped you both like a warm blanket, instantly beginning to soothe the tightness in his muscles. The smell of warm broth and seasoned rice nearly made his stomach growl on the spot.

"Here," he said, pointing to a lone table by the window. The setting was cozy and intimate, tucked away just enough to give you a moment of peace. Childe sank into his seat with a quiet exhale, grateful to be off his feet. He skimmed over the menu, eyes scanning the items with half-interest, but ultimately, he let you take the lead in deciding what to order.

He trusted your taste, and besides, in his current state, he probably could've eaten anything and still claimed it was the best thing he'd ever had.

But when the meal arrived, a difficult challenge presented itself.

Childe's eyes widened as he stared down at the neatly presented dishes. Everything looked and smelled delicious, but there was just one small problem: a pair of chopsticks rested beside his plate.

Oh no...

He nodded politely to the waiter in thanks, keeping his face neutral even though, internally, a wave of nervousness had just crashed over him. He picked up the chopsticks and turned them slowly in his fingers like he was holding a weapon he hadn't quite learned how to use.

These chopsticks were his nemesis.

He tried. He really did. He held the chopsticks too close together, then too far apart. He poked at his food, clumsily trying to lift a piece of meat, only for it to slip through his grasp and fall back onto the plate with a soft thud, drawing a few glances from nearby tables and making his face heat with frustration.

Childe gritted his teeth and let out a quiet sigh. This was ridiculous. He was supposed to be composed, unshakable, the one who always knew what he was doing. Yet here he was, completely undone by two sticks.

Finally, swallowing his pride just enough, he leaned in closer to you. His voice dropped to a whisper, low enough that only you could hear it. "Comrade, do you know how to use these?" he asked with a sheepish edge to it, like he hated asking for help but hated fumbling around even more. The smile he gave you was awkward, almost boyish, far removed from the confident warrior you'd seen earlier.