Chapter Text
-
1.
-
It’s as if the past couple of years merely existed while shrouded in mist, his feet on unsteady, squelchy quicksand. Mist that has now been vaporized, the earth solidifying underneath him. And the things that have been pressing down on his shoulders, dragging down his footsteps, they have now slipped away.
…Also in a literal manner. Money slips away from him like water nowadays.
This is his life now. Others see him as the young master, as the heir, as the youngest member of Fatui, a tight-knit stock of businesses. But right now, he’s just Childe, official wallet to one Zhongli.
He merely waves off the haughty sneer coming from Signora, as he slinks away from the meeting room. She won’t make trouble for him—nothing that’s above mere trifles, that is—and if she does… well, he does have some interesting information on her affairs.
Most people wouldn’t dare to leave a Fatui meeting just like that. Most people wouldn’t even be part of the Fatui, to begin with. But his phone rings, just a single vibrating motion, the only number that goes through its Do Not Disturb mode. It’s rarely a phone call, and this time is no different. It’s a text message, a location, followed by a simple punctuation. The name on top doesn’t have any furnishings, just Zhongli (钟离). Very fitting for this situation—with just one ring of the other’s bell, and he’s ready to come running.
Well, he doesn’t quite run, but it’s close.
He doesn’t bring anything with him, aside from his phone and his wallet, filled with bills even though most of the transactions that involve him are ones that are done with blank checks and high-profile bank transfers. He’s learned his lesson from the several times he’s been called to rescue a certain someone from shops that haven’t even heard of card readers or code scanners.
This time, it’s a tea shop that offers almond tofu—maybe not for the next couple of hours, because it seems that the entire shop’s supply is now on the table where Zhongli is situated.
“Zhongli-sensei, did you order everything again?” A rhetorical question, really, but even for a smooth-talker like him, there really is no other way to broach the conversation. “Too much sweets would not be good for your teeth or your digestion.”
“Childe-dono.” An incline of the head, as though he didn’t text a sedately-worded SOS signal just a few minutes ago. “Will you be joining me for lunch?”
He has five appointments tucked into one another like a restless snake. Pantalone might go straight to cardiac arrest once he hears of him foisting off those important business meetings. He smiles. “Something more substantial than dessert, I hope.”
A menu is passed to him, their fingers brushing. Zhongli doesn’t seem to notice the way he deliberately tangles their pinkies for a few seconds, attention already caught by examining the plate in front of him. “This shop prides on preparing this dessert by way of its traditional recipe. Using the traditional extraction process for almond milk—”
Childe doesn’t manage to order viands until thirty minutes later, loathe as he is to interrupt the lilting cadence of the other’s words. He isn’t hungry anyway, already rendered full just by sitting there and conversing with this odd, odd man.
-
2.
-
“Xiao and Qiqi liked the almond tofu from the other day,” comes next after their greetings.
Timing is more favorable for his workload this afternoon, business hours officially over. It takes him to the opposite end of the city, flirting with the edges of the outer ring and towards three streets that are dressed up like the traditional bazaars of the past. Store banners flap along with the breeze, bringing with it the scent of spicy skewers and the chill of the autumn.
It’s been quite some time since he’s been to his home country, and he’s slowly forgetting how to stand tall without shivering against such temperatures. Nevertheless, he unravels the scarf over his neck so he can donate it to the man in front of him. Zhongli is a walking repository of knowledge, while also forgetting things such as umbrellas, scarves and basically anything that can be linked to a survival instinct.
Right now, he’s also lacking money, as always.
“Zhongli-sensei, if you’re going to adopt them, the first step to become a good father is to remember to bring money with you.” Light and airy as he parts with several bills so he can pay for today’s purchases. An odd mix of perfumes, some distilled from silk flowers, and there’s an odd batch made with glaze lilies.
“You like to say jokes as always, Childe-dono.” A small discussion about the origins of the silk flowers. It’s then followed by, “The shopowner has assured me that this blend with glaze lilies bring about relaxation.”
He chuckles at that one. “You should be selling your own line then. Nobody can be the epitome of relaxation more than you.”
“I shall take that into consideration.” A slight pause. Zhongli plucks the vial of so-called relaxation scent and slips it inside his pocket. Behind his pants. Just done so casually. As though touching someone’s backside in public is in any way normal. The shopowner behind them is a shade of scarlet rivaling the silk flowers. “You’ve been frowning more recently—do let me know if it helps.”
Words that would blame the other his recent spike in stress levels: they die inside his throat. What comes out is a strangled, “I’ll do that. Thanks.”
It really is hard to regret anything when Zhongli smiles at him, bright and golden, pleased with his response. But perhaps he’s celebrated too early, because Zhongli then adds a set of words that strangle him entirely. “No need for thanks, Childe-dono. I only want what is best for my husband.”
Childe skips the blushing and goes straight to the pale of a fainting spell.
-
to be continued.
-