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Zhongli sips his tea as he always does, with elegance and grace beyond compare. Every move is calculated and refined to avoid wasting energy, and he is frighteningly efficient in the way he sets down his cup and picks up a perfectly sized portion of rice and meat in a single movement. Once he sets down his chopsticks for a moment, he wipes his mouth (that was never dirty anyway) with a napkin and starts talking about the intricacies in the slight flavour differences of teas made using Violetgrass cultivated at different elevations over in the Huaguang Stone Forest.
Childe sits and listens, pretending he isn’t anywhere near as lost as he truly is, as he struggles to pick up a single piece of tianshu meat with his abysmal chopstick skills. Eventually, he manages to pick up a small piece and slowly moves it toward his mouth, but he must be too distracted by the way the light shines through the window and reflects off the amber tips of Zhongli’s hair since he presses the chopsticks together just a bit too hard and watches in horror as the meat slips from between his chopsticks. Without even pausing to take a breath, Zhongli reaches across the table and catches it using his chopsticks.
“It appears you have dropped this, Childe. However, I must admit that you are improving,” Zhongli says, seeming genuinely proud of the progress Childe has made. He’s honest, and he’s kind, and that makes this harder than anything.
God, how embarrassing, Childe thinks as he watches the meat get placed gingerly back on his plate. Zhongli, however, doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he very easily slips back into the clearly well-researched speech.
“—the plants at a higher altitude tend to have a more tart flavour, with a bit of bitterness not unlike that of the Qingxin. The Qingxin, of course, exclusively grows at the peaks of the stone spires and therefore this lends itself well to the concept that the plants that are able to thrive at such high altitudes are thus changed in some way to accommodate the difference in oxygen saturation—”
His voice is beautiful, as it always is, and Childe can feel himself get lost in the soothing and familiar rhythm that Zhongli always slips into whenever he goes on a long-winded tangent like this. It’s almost as familiar to him as his parents’ voices used to be, and the way Zhongli’s voice rumbles in his chest at the lower notes sounds almost like a purr. Childe loves everything about it—the way his pitch rises and falls, the way his eyes light up as his pace gets faster whenever he talks about something he finds particularly interesting, the way he enunciates his words far clearer than Childe ever could.
It’s not just Zhongli’s voice that intrigues Childe, though. It’s also the way his eyes fall shut whenever he pauses to remember an anecdote, or the way his eyelashes flutter when he blinks. It’s the small, nearly imperceptible, lines near his eyes that are hidden by the red makeup, and the way the line just under his left eye is slightly longer than the one on the right. It’s the way Zhongli sits in such a relaxed manner yet still remains composed, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly as he looks out the window to point in the direction of where some little-known growing spots are located. His hands, his hair, his eyes… Everything about Zhongli is entrancing and Childe willingly lets himself get drawn in.
The shape of his body, the lines of his figure, and the slight differences in the shades of brown on his suit. The way the patterns that look almost like scales seem to shift and move like those of a great serpent whenever Zhongli moves in his seat. Childe loves it all, and even though he can’t even hear the words and can only hear the voice, Zhongli’s gentle warmth and soothing tone carry him away all too easily.
And that’s when it hits him.
That oh moment that his sister always talked about.
Sitting there in that restaurant, food left completely forgotten on the table, Childe realizes that he’s in love and that he has been for a while. All of this, all of these things that Childe does with Zhongli, and for Zhongli, have been out of love. There are no fireworks or a spark of static accompanying this realization, but Childe doesn’t need that.
It feels more like the final piece of the puzzle finally slipping into place and it feels so right that Childe can’t even try to convince himself otherwise. It’s been this way for a long time, and he should have noticed far sooner. Though it seems to Childe like his entire world just changed, Zhongli doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. He continues on as he always has, now closing his eyes to speak and gods, his skin is so smooth and so much like the ever-perfect porcelain of which the teacups are made that Childe hardly wants to look away or disturb him.
I would be happy just admiring him forever.
The thought crosses Childe’s mind in a flash, but the truth is always hidden in those thoughts that come unprompted. He has to admit that the thought was right. Zhongli makes him want to be impulsive, makes him want to try and find a way to stay by Zhongli’s side (or to have Zhongli stay by his, even once everything is done here and Childe has betrayed him, if Zhongli would still have him at that point). Childe has never wanted anything so much before, and that both scares and excites him.
His eyes fall to Zhongli’s lips as he wonders what they would feel like pressed up against his. Would they be soft? Plump? Painted using lip paper, or with some of that lip balm to combat the salty sea air? The way they move while Zhongli talks is mesmerizing, so measured, and so precise. He speaks so clearly that if Childe tried just a little bit harder, he could read every word that came out of Zhongli’s mouth.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to.
Childe doesn’t even notice when Zhongli stops talking, but he does notice when Zhongli smiles.
It’s gorgeous; a smile both gentle and mysterious playing on Zhongli’s lips. It’s unlike anything else Childe has ever seen before, and he knows right away that he will never be able to forget it. That smile is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and nothing else in this world could ever hope to even come close. For a smile like this, Childe would even lay down his weapons and surrender.
For a moment, Childe forgets he can breathe.
Then Zhongli’s lips open again, the smile fading away, and Childe feels a sense of loss. He wants it to come back, to bless him with its presence gracing Zhongli’s lips once more, but it doesn’t. Instead, he’s pulled back to reality and it’s as much of a shock as having a bucket of ice water dumped over his head.
“Childe,” Zhongli says with a small laugh, the rare sound effortlessly commanding Childe’s attention and holding it hostage, “are you listening?”
Childe smiles, feeling every bit of love that can be contained in this mortal body of his, threatening to well up and overflow.
“Yes,” he says, resolving to stay in the present for the rest of dinner instead of being lost in Zhongli’s eyes. “Yes, I am.”