✧.* a/n: he <33 that is all. enjoy!
i. repairs your clothes for you.
this is something he never intended for you to find out, but it’s a little hard not to notice when a rip you find in one of your shirts is mysteriously fixed the next day. having learned to see it as a sign of weakness, the wanderer isn’t one to readily admit that he can do nice things for people on occasion.
it really was an accident the night that you woke up to get a glass of water from the kitchen and saw him sitting hunched over at the table, hands skillfully working a needle and thread through some fabric. the room is completely dark save for a candle that flickers softly, casting a soft orange glow over his figure.
upon further inspection, you realize it’s the jacket you had been wearing earlier that day that had ended up with a rip in the seam. you had spotted it on the underside of your arm when you reached up for something and picked at it a bit to inspect the size, but never said a word out loud.
somehow the wanderer must have seen you anyways, because now he’s carefully sewing up the hole with no intention of ever letting you discover the deed afterwards. his brows are drawn together in concentration as he works, fully absorbed in his task. he probably wouldn’t have noticed you standing on the other side of the room had the floorboard you stood on not creaked under your weight.
the sound startles both of you and his head snaps up in alarm as he meets your eyes with his own wide ones, looking at you like you might be a ghost for a few seconds before managing to school his expression.
“what are you doing?” you ask with a small smile as if it isn’t obvious, slowly stepping over the creaky board.
“nothing.” he responds quickly, hands twitching with the urge to bundle up the jacket and hide it from sight.
anyone else wouldn’t be able to tell, but the wanderer looks a bit shy as you approach the table to get a better look at his progress. it’s almost completely done, the fabric perfectly stitched back together in a way that shows his experience in repairing clothes.
he must’ve done it himself a lot in the past, since he didn’t have anyone else to offer to do it for him and he would never let go of his pride enough to ask. you wonder who taught him how to do it, how long it’s been since he last saw them. the thought of how long he’s been alone threatens to make you sad so you push it away and knock your shoulder into his playfully.
ii. makes sure surfaces are clean before you sit down.
you’re not even sure if he realizes he does it, but the wanderer always walks ahead of you to wipe down chairs before letting you take a seat.
he never acknowledges the action, so for a while you weren’t sure if he was just a germaphobe or a clean freak. he never does the same to his own before sitting down, barely even spares it a glance most of the time, so you have no choice but to acknowledge the fact that it’s a sweet little gesture he only does for you.
after some time, you decided to see what would happen if you played around with him a bit. on a day where the two of you had decided to stop at a cafe, you push past him and wipe your own chair down before he gets the chance and take a seat.
when you look up, the wanderer hasn’t moved and is standing with his hand frozen in the air, staring at you with slightly widened eyes like he’s malfunctioning. he blinks a few times, glances at his hand and then at your chair, before moving around the table and taking his own seat across from you.
it takes everything in you to hold back a laugh at the way his brain is trying so hard to figure out what just happened. the silence is almost deafening until he realizes it all at once, face scrunching together into an unreadable expression as a smug smile plays on your lips.
his newfound awareness of this doesn’t make it stop though. now every time after that when he wipes your chair down, he gives you a pointed look as if he’s daring you to try doing it again.
iii. instinctively puts his arm in front of you.
despite having learned to partially trust humans again, the wanderer has a habit of being on guard even within the safety of sumeru city. his eyes catch even the smallest movements—no sounds or details going unnoticed by him as he walks by your side down treasures street.
your attention is on the produce in front of you, but his is on the older gentlemen a few stands away that keeps eyeing you up and down. his vile thoughts show clearly on his face, and it makes the wanderer clench his jaw in disgust. he can’t help but wish for a moment that a meteorite would fall out of the sky and make impact with the man’s skull.
it’s right when you finish exchanging your mora and step away from the stall to find the next one when a vendor on the other side of the street drops a heavy box full of sunsettia’s that causes a loud boom when it hits the ground. a pale arm shoots out in front of you and stops you in your tracks as quickly as the sound had happened, and when you blink you're suddenly staring at the wanderer’s back as he blocks your body with his own.
when you shift to peer over his shoulder, all you can see is the vendor frantically trying to pick up all of the fruit he dropped. out of the corner of your eye you can see the wanderer processing this as well, his expression slackens a bit and he turns back to you before walking towards the next stall like nothing happened, but you can tell he’s slightly embarrassed from the dusting of pink on the tips of his ears.
you stare after him in amusement for a few seconds before speed walking to catch up.
“is a box of fruit really so threatening?” you tease lightly.
iv. worries about even the smallest of scratches you get.
human skin is fragile, something that the wanderer knows very well. there is no reality in which you don’t end up with cuts and scars of all sorts in a world where even the smallest things can be fatal. yet even still, when he finds a small healing cut on the back of your hand from the sharp edge of a table, a concerned pout settles over his features.
he turns his hand gently in yours so that he can absentmindedly rub his thumb back and forth over the raised skin, almost like he’s trying to smooth it back down like clay until it’s gone.
he’s unbelievably gentle and tender with you in moments like these, like you’re made of paper and might crease if he holds on to you a bit too tightly. and his touch must work, because you swear your wounds go away quicker under his careful attention.
he does it again the next day, and the day after that as well. whenever you end up with a scratch or a bruise, he lightly traces his finger over the skin until it eventually heals and fades.
v. does things he doesn’t like for you.
one thing about the wanderer is that he does not hesitate to voice his dislike for things. no matter what it might be, he will make his opinion known and refuse to put up with it. he’s stubborn, argumentative, and blunt.
except when it comes to you.
he knows he’s told you he isn’t a fan of sticky sweets in the past, but he also knows you have a tendency to forget things, so he isn’t all that surprised when you run up to him one morning with a container full of homemade dango in your hands.
your eyes are bright and expectant as you take the lid off and hand it over to him, completely unaware. he doesn’t say anything about it, and instead picks one up and takes a bite of one without pause and chews thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing and nodding at you.
it’s not. nothing is wrong with it per say, but there’s sugar caked to his molars and between his teeth. it’s uncomfortable and makes him fight back the urge to grimace, but it’s all worth it in the end when you smile victoriously at his response and make a comment about how you just knew he would like it, and how you stayed up all night making sure it would taste okay for him.
and you’re not wrong. he did. he likes anything as long as you make it, even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the experience. the feeling of his teeth being glued together becomes a mere afterthought at the excitement in your voice, and the wanderer distantly thinks that he would eat all of the dango in teyvat if you asked him to.
much like a feral stray cat warming up to a human for the first time, once the wanderer trusts you, he’ll never leave your side. it is the greatest show of his affection to be somebody he considers worth his time, so the fact that he returns to find you every day says more than words ever could.
when you tell him to close his eyes so you can surprise him with a silly little thing you found, he complies. when you try to sneak up behind him and give a pathetic attempt at scaring him, he lets you. when you clasp his hand in your own and lock your fingers with his, he doesn’t pull away.
these are things he never in a million years would do for anyone else, yet with you, he has never questioned it. the tension in his shoulders and jaw melt away when you’re there, his thoughts and worries becoming nothing but background noise that cowers behind the safety of your voice.
you are the one piece of gold buried in a pile of pyrite, and he has no intention of letting go of you any time soon. he finally found something worth protecting, worth holding on to and worth loving.
and even if he can’t say it out loud quite yet, you hear it loud and clear.
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