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Following the events at the Harbor, Childe finds himself under house arrest until the diplomatic difficulties are taken care of.
A glorified name for what is basically a prison sentence even if his surroundings are nicer than a cell would be. He isn't allowed to leave his apartment. The Millelith outside his door bring him food three times a day, but otherwise, he is left to his own devices. No one else is allowed in.
So Childe stays inside and licks his wounds alone in silence, preparing himself for a long wait. It would be easy to fight his way out or even slip away unnoticed, but he is still a little winded from the fight with the Traveler, and besides, he has orders to stay put.
Let me handle this, Signora had said, smiling slyly as she planted a letter penned by the Tsaritsa herself into Childe’s hand, just play along and don't cause any further complications.
It's Childe’s fifth day in isolation, and he's already going a little stir crazy. His hydro daggers thunk in the wall behind him in a rhythmic pattern, each hitting the little targets he’s made for himself when he can hear arguing outside his door.
He expects it to die down soon. It might be Ekaterina or one of his other subordinates again. It wouldn’t be the first time, but the Millelith always turn them away before long.
It is a surprise when the door opens to reveal a familiar figure.
"Mr. Zhongli," the name slips from Childe’s mouth before he has time to think any further. Mentally he curses himself. What is he supposed to call him now?
"Childe," Zhongli says, standing awkwardly in the doorway. "Are you well?"
Childe snorts, "I'm in house arrest, in case you didn't notice."
“I only meant - are you hurt?” Zhongli says, sounding a little hesitant. “I heard about your fight from the Traveler.”
“Nothing I can't handle,” Childe says and shrugs. “Why are you here?” He doesn’t ask how Zhongli has managed to get permission to enter. Surely an ex-Archon has his ways.
They haven’t talked since the bank. Since Zhongli - no, Rex Lapis - had revealed his and Tsaritsa’s plan. Childe isn’t sure where they stand now. Hasn’t Zhongli already gotten everything he wanted?
“Can I not visit a dear friend without reason? I only just learned of your situation. I would have come earlier had I known.”
“A friend?” Childe says, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “You still consider me a friend?”
“Of course!” Zhongli sounds almost offended. “We have known each other for the better part of a year.”
Childe leans his head back against the wall, letting his mouth twist into a rueful smile. “Have we? Known each other, I mean.”
“Childe-”
“Let's not pretend that all the time we spent together wasn’t because of ulterior motives. We’ve both been lying through our teeth.” It hurts a little to admit that. Childe doesn’t have many people he would call friends, and what he had with Zhongli - what he’d thought he’d had with Zhongli, he reminds himself - had felt special. Still, the facts are facts. They had both had use for each other, plain and simple, and they had milked each other for all they were worth. To think otherwise would be foolish.
“Perhaps we were not quite truthful-”
“That’s a hell of an understatement,” Childe cuts in.
“-but I have truly treasured the time we spent together,” Zhongli continues without missing a beat. “It is not often I find such common ground with a mortal.”
Childe doesn’t know how to answer that.
Zhongli is silent, too, for a long moment. “Could we perhaps start anew?”
“Start anew?” Childe asks, taken aback.
“Yes. Now that there is no longer need for lies,” Zhongli says and reaches his hand towards Childe in a Snezhnayan greeting. “I am Zhongli of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Once upon a time, I was known as Rex Lapis, the Archon of Liyue.”
Childe stares at the hand in front of him, not quite knowing what Zhongli is offering. It could be another ploy, he supposes, but i’s not like Childe has much to lose. Zhongli seems sincere, at least, and if he means what he says - well, Childe wants to believe him.
“Alright. I’ll bite. Harbinger Tartaglia, at your service, though people call me Childe,” he says as he tentatively shakes Zhongli’s hand. He isn’t quite ready to disclose Ajax yet.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Zhongli says and smiles so brightly it seems to lit up the entire room.
His gloved hand is warm and firm in Childe’s own. He can’t help but grip it a little tighter.
“Likewise,” Childe mumbles as he lets his hand linger in Zhongli’s hold for a moment longer than is necessary. “I think I still have a bottle of baijiu lying somewhere. Care to share?”
—
Zhongli visits almost daily after that, unbothered by the Millelith. Childe wonders what he’s done to be exempt from the rules, but he never asks what Zhongli has bargained for the privilege.
It must be Zhongli’s third visit when he stares pointedly at the wall across from Childe's bed, where the wood is starting to splinter from the repeated strikes of his knives.
"I get bored," Childe says defensively. “It’s not like there’s much else to do. The guards don’t exactly provide me with entertainment.”
“That is certainly not the wall’s fault,” Zhongli says, crossing his arms. “I could bring you books. I’m sure the Millelith wouldn’t mind that.”
The Millelith probably would mind, but that isn’t Childe’s problem. “I - I’m not great with reading,” he says, a little embarrassed.
“There must be something less destructive you enjoy doing that can be achieved indoors.”
"Not really. I’m an outdoors kind of guy,” Childe says and shrugs. “I liked to cook when I was younger. Back in Snezhnaya, that is. I don't know how to cook anything Liyuean."
“An excellent idea. Cooking is truly a worthwhile pursuit. I will acquire some recipes for you.”
Well, Zhongli seems excited, and at least it will give Childe something to do. Maybe he’ll even enjoy it. “Sure,” he says.
And so Childe finds himself trying to learn Liyuean cooking.
The first thing he attempts is Jueyun Chili Chicken. It’s just chicken, and he’s always been a pretty good cook, he thinks as he goes through the ingredients Zhongli has brought for him. His apartment may be spartan in its decoration, but the kitchen is decently well-equipped, at least, even if he never uses it. The Fatui have cooks to feed their troops when Childe isn’t out gallivanting across town with Zhongli. How hard could it possibly be?
Childe is wrong. Preparing the chicken is easy enough, even if the pan is different from what he is used to and he can’t seem to find the spatula. The trouble starts as Childe attempts to work on the sauce as the meat cools. He chops the chilis and tosses them into the pan when with the heat of the stove blazing in front of him, he makes the mistake of wiping the sweat off his face with his bare hands. Immediately he can feel a tingling burn in his eyes and lips. Oh shit, it must be the chili, Childe thinks. As he rushes to wash it off, the sauce still simmering over the fire starts to smolder.
He’s still trying to save what can be saved when Zhongli arrives.
“Did - did you fight the chicken?” Zhongli asks, slightly concerned, as he takes in Childe’s wild look, from his reddish eyes to his water-sodden hair and the mess he’s made of his jacket while trying to save the sauce.
“More like the chili,” Childe replies, not knowing whether he should be laughing or crying as he takes in the sorry state of his food. What he has been able to produce is unappetizing bits of chicken in a burned sauce. Even the rice has turned lumpy, almost porridge-like. “I’m sorry. This isn’t exactly Wanmin quality.”
It’s doubly embarrassing because Zhongli can be very particular about his food, and it isn’t one or two times he has walked out of a restaurant after deeming the quality subpar.
“Nonsense. I will enjoy any meal you present me. However,” Zhongli hums, “perhaps I could give you some pointers.”
True to his words, Zhongli eats every last bit, even if his expression is a bit too stoic for the occasion.
“Next time, we should cook together,” Zhongli says as he finally puts down his chopsticks.
Childe easily agrees.
“Now, what do you require assistance with?” Zhongli asks a few days later when he returns with the second batch of ingredients.
“I think I learned my lesson about chili, but I still don’t know what went wrong with the rice.”
“Did you wash the rice last time?”
“No…?” Why would he wash the rice?
Zhongli sighs, but his smile is fond. “Then it seems we have discovered your problem.”
That remark soon turns into a lecture about the process of cooking perfect rice and where the best crops are grown, but he does guide Childe through the rice cooking process at the same time.
With the rice taken care of, Childe turns his attention to the chicken. As he picks up a spoon to flip the pieces of chicken around in the pan, Zhongli gives him a long stare.
“Don't look at me. There isn’t a single spatula in this kitchen,” Childe says, feeling self-conscious.
Zhongli chuckles and picks up a pair of long chopsticks lying discarded in a box of utensils. Ones Childe had tried to eat with once and deemed utterly hopeless. “It is what these are for.”
Of course. Of course, it’s chopsticks again.
“Allow me to demonstrate,” Zhongli says as he stands behind Childe, guiding Childe’s hands, holding the pan and the chopsticks with his own. "Like so."
Childe swears the heat spreading across his cheeks is simply because of the stove, not because of how close Zhongli is standing.
Zhongli seems unfazed by the contact of their linked hands. He keeps rambling on about the finer points of Liyue cuisine like nothing is out of the ordinary.
Slowly Childe relaxes too. It's almost funny how easily they have shifted back into an easy companionship, he thinks. Then again, Zhongli has always made him feel at ease.
With Zhongli’s help, Childe does quickly improve. The next batch of Jueyun Chili Chicken he makes is truly worth Zhongli’s compliments.
–
Childe receives his verdict from the Qixing a few weeks later.
A month. He's given a month to get his businesses in order, and then he is to leave Liyue. The never to return again is heavily implied.
At least he is free from house arrest, but it hardly feels like enough time. He still hasn't discussed where he stands with Zhongli. He isn’t even entirely sure what there is to discuss.
Treucer's unexpected visit is a whirlwind, completely unraveling all his plans, and afterward, Childe is forced into bed rest. He's once again confined to his apartment, but this time the guards posted outside his door are Fatui, not Millelith.
It's only as there's another argument at his doorway that Childe remembers he had promised to take Zhongli to dinner to celebrate his freedom on this very day.
“It's fine! Let him in!” Childe shouts to his men.
“Childe,” Zhongli greets him curtly as he enters. He looks worried, a frown marring his face. “I did not know you were unwell.”
Childe finds he doesn't like that expression on Zhongli at all. "Sorry, I promised to take you out to eat, but I'm a little tied up at the moment," he says, trying for lightness.
"It matters little. Your health is far more important. What happened?"
"I took on a dozen ruin guards in a couple of minutes."
Zhongli hovers at the doorway of his bedroom, shakes his head, and sighs, "That was foolish."
"Worth it. I had a childhood dream to protect," Childe says with a grin that is closer to a grimace. “I'll be fine in a week or two."
Zhongli frowns again, the creases between his eyebrows deeper than before. "This has happened before." It isn’t a question.
"I'm just over-exerted, is all," Childe tries to wave off his worry. It's to no avail. He's barely stopped talking before he coughs wetly. Zhongli is by his side in an instant, offering up a handkerchief. Childe takes it, unable to stop the coughs that follow.
The sputum comes up flecked with blood. Not much, certainly less than a few days ago, but it’s enough to make Zhongli's face pale.
Zhongli inhales audibly. His hands hover over Childe's chest uncertainly. "This is not overexertion."
"I'll be fine," Childe insists.
“You will excuse me for not taking your word for it, I hope.” Zhongli crunches his eyes shut in concentration as his hands press against Childe’s skin; something warm washes over Childe, a feeling that reminds him of his feet being buried in the warm sand of the beach.
“The damage isn’t as extensive as I feared, but you should still be treated,” Zhongli says as he retracts his hands. “You are aware that you smell of the Abyss, I’m sure. You cannot fault me for worrying.”
Zhongli leaves as quickly as he had arrived, looking thoughtful as he says, “I will return shortly.”
True to his word Zhongli isn’t gone for long. When he comes back, he’s laden with a heap of neatly bundled supplies.
“May I use your kitchen?”
“Sure,” Childe says and shrugs. It’s not like he’s going to use it himself now.
Zhongli stays in the kitchen for a long moment. When he emerges back into Childe’s bedroom, he’s carrying a teapot Childe doesn’t remember owning and a single cup. “Medicinal tea, from the sacred herbs of Jueyun Karst. Strong enough to treat even the adepti and particularly potent for those plagued by the shadows that haunt this world.”
"This really isn't necessary," Childe tries to argue as Zhongli helps him into a sitting position, propping him up by pillows.
"Nonsense," Zhongli says. “Besides, you need to get your strength back so you can keep your promise. I look forward to that meal.” He smiles. It's a faint thing but infinitely better than the frown, Childe thinks.
Before Childe can answer, there's a cup pressed against his lips. The liquid pouring into his mouth is bitter enough to make him grimace, but he drinks it down all the same.
“Two cups should do, for now,” Zhongli murmurs as he pours Childe another cup.
Childe drifts off soon after to a feeling of fingers in his hair and Zhongli’s voice in his ears, "I do not like seeing you hurt."
He sleeps soundly and without nightmares, something that rarely happens.
The strange tea does seem to have helped. When he wakes, Childe feels lighter than he has in a long time. Childe isn't sure how long he has been asleep, but when he wakes up, it's to the sound of someone puttering around in his kitchen.
Zhongli steps into the room almost immediately, holding a steaming bowl of something Childe can’t see. "Ah, you are awake. And just in time," he says, smiling. "Wait just a moment."
Childe stares after him, his mouth hanging open. Zhongli has removed his jacket and gloves, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to reveal dark skin run through with golden symbols. They glimmer in the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, looking almost ethereal.
Somehow he manages to look the most regal and the most relaxed Childe has ever seen him at the same time.
“I’ve never seen your hands like that,” Childe mumbles.
Zhongli looks taken aback and slightly sheepish. “Oh. I had not realized. It takes a lot of effort to keep my skin looking human,” he says. “Do you mind?”
“It’s fine. I like them,” Childe says. After a pause, he adds, “Does this mean you’re relaxed around me?”
“Hm. It would appear so,” Zhongli says and smiles, holding the bowl towards him. “Here. A traditional soup with meat and bamboo shoots to nourish your body. Please eat.”
The soup smells divine, and suddenly Childe realizes just how hungry he is. But when he reaches for the bowl, his hands still tremble too badly. To properly hold the chopsticks proves too much, too, and in the end, Zhongli sits down at Childe’s bedside, feeding him like a mother might a sick child.
Almost as soon as Childe tastes the dish, his eyes threaten to fall shut in bliss. The broth is light and fragrant, and the meat is so tender it almost melts in his mouth. “It’s really good,” he says, even though that hardly does the dish justice.
“I am glad. To truly perfect this dish, you need the highest quality ingredients and a lot of patience. Patience I have in abundance, but on such short notice, some compromises had to be made on the produce.”
There's something stuck in Childe's throat. "You made this?" he asks, his voice hoarse as he swallows uselessly around nothing.
“But of course.”
Handmade food, just for him. It's really been far too long since anyone has done this for Childe. Two years, at least, since that was when he last visited Morepesok. It’s making him far too emotional.
Luckily, Zhongli doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he gently feeds Childe every last bit of the soup, holding the bowl up so that Childe can drink the broth.
Childe doesn't remember when he has last tasted anything quite so good.
—
It takes almost two weeks until Childe is out and about again. Just like that, he’s wasted nearly half his remaining time in Liyue.
Coincidently, it's the start of the lantern rite. The city is full of lights and the excited murmur of the crowds. The festival keeps Zhongli busy with his consulting work as people get ready to honor the adepti that have already passed.
What do you wish for is the question on everyone’s lips and something Childe, too, finds himself wondering. If he were to light a lantern, what would he write on it? Would he wish to finally go back home or to remain in Liyue for a little while longer? Childe isn’t quite sure anymore.
When Zhongli apologetically asks to postpone their dinner at Wanmin again, Childe has an idea. “Would you mind if we had dinner at my place instead?” he asks. It might be the last time he’ll ever have the opportunity to cook for Zhongli. The thought makes him feel oddly uncomfortable.
Zhongli easily agrees.
Now the question remains, what should he cook? Anything Liyuean will only feel like an imitation of something they have already eaten together.
Something Snezhnayan then.
In the end, there’s only one dish that feels right.
Blini.
It’s something that always reminds him of home. Something that’s an inherent part of him.
His mother used to make blini for the New Year every year when he was little. Time to bring the sun to the long darkness, she would say and smile as she'd hand the pancakes to her waiting children. Food was often scarce in the winter, but on the New Year, his mother would always make sure everyone got their bellies so full they could hardly move after.
It's the most basic dish in his repertoire. Simple pancakes that should be easy enough to replicate even here, on the other side of the world. It’s the first thing he ever learned to cook, but it's been years since he's last made it himself.
It isn't quite the same as it would be in Snezhnaya, of course. Wheatflour will have to do, and there's no way to get decent smetana in Liyue, but one of his subordinates makes his own and is happy enough to part with some. After much scouring, Childe manages to find ostentatiously expensive crab roe even in this season. Onions, at least, are easy to come by.
A heavy pouch of mora is enough to secure the highest balcony outside the guest house for Childe’s private use, as well as a table and two chairs. The terrace is high enough for an unobstructed view of the fireworks when they start, and even before that, it should be atmospheric at dusk, with the lantern-lit street cast below them and showing a glimpse of the sea.
Everything should be perfect. Childe makes sure of it. The table is set - with knives and forks for once - and the dough is made well in advance before Zhongli arrives. The toppings are laid out on small deep dishes, balanced on a tray of ice Childe has bought from a cryo user, ready to serve. Zhongli’s favorite wine, too, is chilled and ready to be poured.
While Zhongli waits for him on the terrace, Childe cooks the pancakes to the perfect shade of gold and brown. But when it’s finally time to serve the dish, Childe hesitates. After so many lavish dinners they have eaten in the best restaurants in Liyue, his food looks very humble.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea for their potentially last meal together.
“I know it’s simple and not something you’re used to-” Childe starts, standing at the doorway to the terrace, holding his plate of blini in front of him awkwardly.
“Nonsense. It looks lovely. Besides, it is rare for me to try something new,” Zhongli says and beckons for him to sit. “Would you show me what to do?”
So Childe divides the blini between their two plates, heaping a spoonful of smetana on each pancake before topping them with chopped onion and the crab roe.
Zhongli is unfairly adept with utensils as he tucks in. “An interesting combination,” he remarks. “The tang from the raw onion makes the roe taste almost sweet. The pancakes, too, are well made.”
The compliment makes Childe smile, even if he’s still feeling oddly restless. Like something is missing, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out what it is.
There’s something painfully domestic about it all. How many times have they already eaten together, in restaurants and at home?
Is there any person in the world he’s spent more time with willingly, apart from his family? Anyone he would rather spend this moment with?
“Childe?” Zhongli says questioningly, and Childe realizes he hasn’t at all listened to what Zhongli has said in the last few minutes. “Is something the matter?”
Childe is acutely aware that Zhongli is very close, with both of them leaning over the small table.
“It’s nothing,” Childe says. “I just- I'm only here for a week longer.”
Zhongli waits for him to continue.
The words refuse to come. Instead, Childe stares intently at the patterns of the wood on the tabletop, even as he reaches forward to entwine his fingers with Zhongli’s. Zhongli lets him, squeezing his hand in turn.
Childe thinks he knows what he would write on a lantern now.
“I don’t think I want to leave,” Childe finally whispers as he lifts their interlaced fingers to his lips. “To leave you.”
“Childe-” Zhongli starts, the fingertips of his free hand grazing down Childe’s cheek.
“Ajax,” Childe blurts out quickly, almost breathlessly. “My name is Ajax.” Without waiting for a response, emboldened by the contact, he closes the remaining distance between them to press his lips against Zhongli’s. When Zhongli reciprocates, sliding his tongue against Childe’s, he tastes like the wine and the crab roe, and something spicy and dark and inherently Zhongli.
The combination reminds Childe of earth and the sea, of Liyue and Snezhnaya.
How strange that their first kiss should be over plates of blini so far from home.
“Ajax,” Zhongli whispers against Childe’s lips when he pulls away. “Thank you.”
“Why would you thank me?” Childe blurts out. “It’s not- I’m just making everything harder than it needs to be. There’s so little time left, and I-”
Zhongli silences him with another kiss. “Then we should make the most of it,” he says as he runs his thumbs over Childe’s cheekbones. “I would rather have this short time with you than none at all. Besides, even if you leave, it won’t be forever. I will persuade the Tianquan to change her verdict if need be. I have my ways.”
The fireworks light up the sky behind them, but they are forgotten. The rest of the blini, too, are soon discarded as Childe leads Zhongli back inside.
Zhongli is right. There is still time.
They should definitely make the most of it.