Work Text:
Childe,
I will be having lunch at Wanmin Restaurant this afternoon and would love to have you as company.
Love,
Zhongli
Childe lets out a half-exasperated sigh and runs his fingers absentmindedly through his hair, deliberately ignoring the warm, fluttery feeling that fills his chest upon reading Zhongli’s maddeningly elegant handwriting and the word “love” at the bottom of the page.
His eyes scan over the brief note once more to ensure there isn’t anything he missed and, upon noticing the postscript, slaps a palm against his forehead.
P.S. Bring the chopsticks I gave you.
So Zhongli wants him to bring the set of chopsticks that he’d bought for Childe as a gift—using Childe’s own money. Childe doesn’t even bother trying to figure out the man anymore, what with his endless repertoire of useless knowledge and overly formal way of speaking and complete absence of understanding of the concept of money and apparent lack of brain cells and soft golden eyes rimmed with striking red and—
Right. Childe has an appointment. And it really isn’t a good idea to keep an Archon waiting. Even if the Archon in question has all the time in the world after having faked his death to get out of his job and, unrelatedly, also decided to never mention his identity to Childe, despite being very close friends.
Childe isn’t salty about it. Not in the slightest.
Upon arriving at Wanmin Restaurant, Childe can see that Zhongli has already ordered several dishes for the two of them, and Childe is suddenly very glad that he’d at least had the foresight to bring his wallet, because it’s not like Zhongli remembered his.
Childe is really beginning to doubt Zhongli even has one, to begin with.
“Ah, Childe, I’m glad you could join me,” Zhongli says upon noticing his arrival. He smiles at Childe good-naturedly, lips softening and eyes crinkling slightly upward at the corners.
The sun must be shining pretty intensely today, Childe thinks, because suddenly his whole face feels very warm.
Childe forces a smile, and he finds that it comes much easier than he expected. More naturally. Everything comes more naturally where Zhongli is involved. Childe has never been one to let his guard down but, for some reason, Zhongli makes it feel okay. Safe. Comforting.
But that’s not the point.
“Did you bring your chopsticks?” Zhongli asks, still smiling and making Childe’s brain cells start to dissolve.
Dammit, is Zhongli’s lack of brain cells contagious or something? Yeah, that must be it.
“You mean the ones you bought me with my own money?” Childe retorts jokingly.
“Yes, those are the ones I meant,” replies Zhongli. “I wasn’t aware you owned any other pairs of chopsticks,”
Zhongli is an oblivious idiot. Childe makes a show of exasperation, but secretly he finds it to be a rather endearing quality. Not annoying in the slightest.
Okay, well maybe a little. But still, it’s—
“Cute” is definitely not the word Childe was looking for.
“I don’t,” Childe says, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. “It was—Zhongli, do you know what sarcasm is?”
“Oh.”
Childe laughs. Again, Zhongli is an oblivious idiot.
Zhongli pushes a bowl of salt-and-pepper tofu toward Childe invitingly. “Try some,” he offers.
“Is there…a fork?” Childe asks hopefully, already knowing the answer.
Zhongli laughs—a high, delicate sound that still somehow manages to carry all of Zhongli’s grace and elegance with it while still conveying his amusement.
The heat from the kitchen is probably getting to Childe too, now that he thinks of it.
“Childe,” chastises Zhongli lightly, shaking his head and smiling. “Truly you can't expect to appreciate Liyue’s cuisine with a fork?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Come on, it’s not going to hurt you to give it a try,” Zhongli teases. “I bought you those chopsticks for a reason, no?”
Childe bites back his obligatory remark about which of the two of them actually made the purchase and picks up the set of dragon-and-phoenix chopsticks that Zhongli had given him, because something about the way Zhongli speaks is just so inviting and Childe can’t help but want to master the art of chopsticks just to make Zhongli happy.
Carefully placing the two strips of wood between his fingers, Childe reaches for a piece of tofu and closes it between the pair of chopsticks. Doing his best to focus all of his attention on keeping the tofu between the chopsticks, Childe tries to lift his wrist and raise the tofu to his mouth.
As soon as Childe moves his hand, however, the tofu slips out from between the two chopsticks and falls back into the plate. Childe heaves a frustrated sigh, defeated. He could clear out an entire army if he so pleased with nothing but a bow and arrow, and yet he can’t manage to use a single pair of chopsticks. Go figure.
Zhongli is still smiling, and he laughs again at Childe’s fruitless attempt to properly use two sticks of wood. Had it been anyone else, Childe probably would’ve gotten irritated. But Zhongli…he can get away with a lot of things as far as Childe is concerned. Zhongli probably knows it, too.
Or maybe he doesn’t, because Zhongli really can be clueless sometimes, especially when it comes to social cues.
Childe is suddenly acutely aware of Zhongli’s hand around his, holding the chopsticks in place properly. As it turns out, Childe was doing it completely wrong. Again, go figure.
Zhongli is saying something as he guides Childe’s hand through the motions of properly using chopsticks, but Childe can’t bring himself to listen. He tries, but for some reason, the only thing his brain seems capable of thinking about or processing is how close Zhongli is and how he smells faintly of silk flowers and how warm and comforting his hand feels against Childe’s own.
Childe doesn’t know why his pulse is suddenly racing uncontrollably or why he feels like there are a thousand crystalflies fluttering around in his stomach. Actually, Childe doesn’t think he knows much of anything right now. His brain seems to have been completely incapable of producing any sort of thought whatsoever, and Zhongli is the only thing Childe is aware of. It’s as if all of his senses have suddenly become numb to everything else and latched themselves onto Zhongli as if he’s the only thing in the world that truly exists.
“Does that make sense?” Zhongli’s calm, patient voice cuts through Childe’s thoughts like a knife through butter as he is abruptly lurched back into the present.
“Um.” Childe swallows. “I think so, yeah.”
Zhongli gives Childe another one of his warm smiles. “Well, why don’t you give it another try?”
Childe blinks. Dammit, he knew he should’ve been paying attention. “Yeah, sure,” he acquiesces absentmindedly, trying to remember what Zhongli had done.
He’d put his hand around Childe’s and rearranged the way his fingers had been holding the chopsticks and…and…
Shit.
Childe sighs and does his best to go through the motions of picking up a piece of tofu, but he can still feel where Zhongli’s hand had been on his own only moments before. He lifts his wrist to guide the tofu towards his mouth and—hey, it worked. Childe is mildly surprised when he doesn’t manage to drop the tofu and is actually able to eat it for a change.
Zhongli is beaming, his face practically glowing with pride. Childe wouldn’t even be all too surprised if Zhongli really were glowing—he is a god, after all.
“See?” Zhongli says mildly. “I knew you could do it; all it took was a little guidance.”
Childe blinks twice, feeling his face growing warm again. Damn this Liyuean heat or whatever. “So, um. What’s up with this pattern?” he asks Zhongli, alluding to the dragon-and-phoenix pattern on the chopsticks in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
“Ah, the dragon and the phoenix,” Zhongli begins, his tone even and mild. “Well, the dragon and the phoenix are ancient symbols of unity and prosperity, and together, they signify a blissful, perfect marriage. Hence, it is traditional Liyuean custom to gift the dragon-and-phoenix chopsticks to your partner as a symbol of a strong, prospering marriage.”
Childe almost chokes on his tofu. Clearing his throat and collecting his wits, he does his best to put on a smile despite the fact that his heart is currently performing some complex acrobatic routine inside his rib cage. “Well then, I suppose that makes us married, huh?”
Zhongli smiles again—but this time it’s more of a smirk, teasing and mischievous, with an unmistakable twinkle behind his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it does,”
And it suddenly occurs to Childe that he is far more than okay with that.