[Childe grimaces at the pain from the disinfectant, but it's necessary. He sits still, watching her work, and the only thing he can think of is why. There's a strange familiarity in this entire exchange too- had Aether found him in this condition, surely he would have scolded him and done the same. Forced him to sit, to dress his wounds, put his hands on his hips and glare.

There's a part of him that still wants to take advantage of this situation. But for now, he silently watches her, not really knowing how to respond for the moment.

His next movement is slow, non-threatening, as he reaches his hand up to grasp one of her wrists. His grip is loose, and she can easily pull away without much effort. He just wants to stop her for a second.]

Why are you doing this? You have servants you could order to dress my wounds, and yet you invite me into this room and treat me yourself.

[His head tilts slightly to the side with curiosity.]

Your brother would have done the same for me too, you know. I guess you both are pretty alike.