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Here’s the thing: Childe has never had a vested interest in romance, girls, or anything even remotely adjacent to the realm of dating.
He’s in high school, for fuck’s sake. The things he cares about ranked in order of importance are: his family; his friends; and his ice hockey scholarship. Everything that doesn’t have a direct correlation to his long term goal of becoming a star athlete feels inconsequential, somewhat.
To be fair, his single mindedness can be hard to comprehend to just about any respectable authority figure over thirty-five. People who — he is loath to admit — have the power to affect his future career trajectory.
Which is where Lumine comes in.
Of all the girls he knows, Lumine is by far the least offensive. She’s whip-smart, and funny, and seems to have an aversion to anything remotely sentimental or sappy. Her qualifications include being a part of the student council and playing center on the girl’s rugby team.
She’d be a perfect, by-the-book girlfriend. Someone who will cheer him on from the sidelines, and get his mom off his back. See? There’s more to his life than ice hockey. He is capable of multitasking.
There is, of course, just one small problem.
“Zhongli,” Lumine calls out, rapping her knuckles on the door. “C’mon, let’s go. We’re running late.”
Childe’s deskmate gets to his feet fluidly. He leaves a trail of sweet-smelling osmanthus in the air when he eases past, his hips grazing the edge of Childe’s desk. The cuffs of his white shirt are perfectly pressed. His voice is so deep it makes his chest tighten with displeasure every time he speaks. “Coming.”
That asshole. Childe huffs out a displeased noise, averting his gaze.
Zhongli, president of the student council, and the bane of Childe’s existence. Tall and ridiculously handsome, all of which is negated seeing how he is both a nag and a bore. He is constantly looking for reasons to knock him down a peg. Correcting him in class whenever he bothers to speak up. Detailing the numerous ways he fucked up during the September mock exam. Pointing out the stain on his shirt, the cowlick by the nape of his neck.
The worst of it is how he shows up at every game, and stares him down at every possible interval. Childe recognises the look in his eyes. Critical and weighing out his every move, as if just waiting for the chance to catch him out for some mistake or the other.
Why does he have to be friends with Lumine, of all people?
He pushes his chair back, jerking to his feet on unsteady legs. Lumine laughs in the distance, the noise soft and lilting. It is preceded by Zhongli’s soft murmur, his voice wry and gentle in a way Childe has never heard before.
It takes all of his self-restraint not to break into a run. He lurches past the door, catches up to their retreating form in two strides. “Hey there, Lumine,” he declares cheerily. “Where are you off to?”
“The council room,” she says without pause. “What’s up? Do you need my help with something?”
Helpful as always. He manages the most charming smile he can muster. “Math,” he replies. “Trigonometry confuses me.”
“Because you won’t stop sleeping during class,” Zhongli interjects, frowning. “You’re not getting enough rest.”
It’s presumptuous and yet so wholly expected of Zhongli that all Childe can manage is an impatient noise. “Yeah?” he demands, hackles raised. “How would you know?”
His anger is enough to bring Zhongli to a halt. “You,” he blinks, composing himself. Then, so quietly he almost misses it, “You have dark shadows under your eyes.”
There is something akin to worry in his voice. It unsettles him, sends him off-balance. For a second, all Childe can manage is a vaguely undignified noise. “That’s — it’s none of your business.”
“I wouldn’t dare involve myself in your affairs.”
“Could have fooled me,” he retorts, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t you have better things to do rather than comment on my appearance?”
He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re the one impeding us. We have to be at the council room in five minutes.”
“ You go ahead,” Childe ekes out through gritted teeth. “I’m talking to Lumine.”
“I didn’t even realize I was a part of the conversation,” Lumine points out. It almost sounds as if she’s biting back a snort, but Childe’s pretty sure he’s imagining it. “In the interest of saving everyone time, why don’t you help Zhongli with set-up instead?” She plops a stack of pamphlets into his arms before he can protest, the suddenness of the motion sending him staggering. “In fact, check in with him for trig while you’re at it. He’s the top scorer for this module.”
A beat as he attempts to process this. It’s a moment too long, probably, seeing how Lumine is already darting away. “Wait,” he croaks out, reaching for her. Then, in a last ditch attempt at salvaging his sanity, “I’m not even a part of the student council!”
It’s too late. She doesn’t even spare him a second glance.
Resisting the urge to swear Zhongli out, he settles for a scowl instead, glaring down at the sheaf of papers in his grip. “What’s this?”
“We’re organizing a blood drive,” Zhongli says, resuming his leisurely pace. “Give me the rest of it,” he adds briskly. “I can handle it by myself.”
“You think I can’t even handle something as simple as distributing flyers? ”
“I’m not having a conversation with you. It’s clear you’re just raring for a fight.”
It’s infuriating how quickly Zhongli gets a read on him. But then again, he does make a decent sparring partner.
“You love it,” Childe grins, because there is something particularly satisfying about getting under his skin. Sure enough, Zhongli’s face goes beet-red right on cue; a conspicuous indicator of his anger. “C’mon now, prez,” he teases, jostling at his ribs. “I’ll race you to see who can give out more flyers.”
(Zhongli wins. Not that it matters, really.)
+
Limited as his experience might be, Childe is well-aware that there is a standard protocol when it comes to signaling your interest in someone. Tonia loves rom-coms, and he’s seen a fair share — enough to get an idea of what to expect. There’s chocolate, and flowers, and blatant attempts to spend time together using some convoluted excuse or the other.
In his case, he’s going with tutoring. It’s plausible, and he might as well get his grades up while he’s at it.
It’d be a foolproof plan if Lumine wasn’t so dense.
“So,” he tries again, grappling for a conversational lifeline, “what are your homecoming plans?”
She manages an absent noise in response. Her gaze is still glued on the test paper before her. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going with someone?”
“Your proofs are abysmal,” Lumine says instead. At this point, it takes all of his willpower to keep from slamming his head onto the desk. “How are your fundamentals this bad?”
A long, deep exhale through the nose. Childe is fine. This is fine. “That’s what you’re here for, right?” he says cheerily. And because he’s never been one for subtlety, “How about we go together, then?”
That gets her attention at least. “To the homecoming dance?” Lumine asks, frowning. “I can’t. I told Xiao we’d go together,” then, catching on to the implication of her words, “as, uh, friends. Zhongli is coming too.”
Of course he is. “Why don’t Xiao and Zhongli go together then?” he demands.
“It’d be weird,” Lumine says flatly. This, apparently, doesn’t warrant any further context or explanation. “You can join us if you want. I’ll check with Zhongli, he’s right there.”
There’s nothing surprising about Zhongli studying after school. What’s concerning is that Childe didn’t spot him — he’s usually a lot more attuned to his presence. It’s hard not to, seeing how Zhongli might be the only thing standing in the way of his Lumine-as-his-girlfriend agenda. “Wait —” he gets out, but it’s too late. Lumine is already waving him over.
“What’s wrong?” he says, because clearly Childe’s presence can only mean one thing: trouble. Man, he hates this guy.
“Nothing. Childe doesn’t have homecoming plans, so I asked him to join us,” Lumine explains. “It’s not a problem, right?”
For the umpteenth time, he wishes Zhongli was a little easier to read. His lips are twitching at the corners, but there’s nothing unfriendly about his demeanor. Shouldn’t he be freaking out at the prospect of Childe crashing his date? “Sure,” he agrees, glancing over at him. “I’m surprised, though. I thought someone like you would have your pick of the entire school population.”
There it is. It wouldn’t be Zhongli if he didn’t manage to slide in a passive-aggressive jab at his expense. “You’re not wrong,” he shrugs, rocking back on the legs of his chair. “But I decided I want to spend it with the people I care about most. Like Lumine.”
He sneaks a glance over at her. No reaction. Damn.
To her credit, it doesn’t incite a reaction from Zhongli either. He does, however, lean closer, reducing the space between them to a mere few inches. Childe catches a whiff of something sweet and floral; the warmth of him an insistent weight against his arm. His breath catches at the sudden intimacy, his chest constricting.
Jesus. What’s his problem?
“Your proofs are wrong,” Zhongli says, as if that’s an excuse for looming over him like that. “Here,” he says, plucking a pencil out from his hair, tugging it loose from his ponytail. “You should be doing this instead.”
There’s a part of him that’s tempted to voice his annoyance, some kind of disdain for Zhongli just swooping in like that to take over. But it’s hard to focus when he’s never seen Zhongli with his hair down before. A waterfall of dark strands — ridiculously smooth, and framing his face in wispy tendrils.
Huh, he thinks. Zhongli is weirdly, stupidly pretty.
“Thanks Zhongli,” Lumine grins, getting to her feet. “You can take over from here, right?”
Wait, what? Childe jerks back into focus. Lumine, her back to him. Lumine, leaving. “You’re heading off?”
“I don’t think I’m needed here,” she says with a wave. “In fact, I should have directed you to him in the first place. Zhongli is a math prodigy.”
“Yeah, but,” he slumps back in his chair, at a loss of what to say. How the hell is he being sabotaged at every turn? “Fine, I guess. Whatever.”
“You could sound more grateful about it,” Zhongli remarks. Childe makes the mistake of glancing over, then, and it must be a trick of the light, because it almost looks as if he is smiling. The ochre of his eyes are weirdly hypnotizing.
He forces out an impatient noise. “Shut up. Just help me already.”
+
The thing about Zhongli is that he’s a talker , once he gets going. Which means it’s dark out by the time they’re done with their study session, and Childe is no closer to acquiring a girlfriend.
He probably will pass his math final, though. So that’s one positive.
“Well,” he says as he steps through the gate. “I’m headed this way.”
Zhongli makes a noncommittal noise in response. He’s distracted, fumbling with his hair with one hand and searching through his bag with the other. “Sure. Safe travels back home.”
It’s a good opportunity to make his escape. But Childe has never done what’s good for him, and it seems stupid to start now. “Why are you bothering with your hair?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Aren’t you just heading home?”
“I don’t like how untidy it is,” Zhongli supplies. “It’s fine. It’ll take a minute.”
Granted, Childe’s not sure Zhongli should subject anyone else to the sight of him with his hair down. The thought of it makes him feel strangely uneasy. “Did you leave your pen in the library?”
“Maybe. I should have a spare one though.”
“I think I saw Madam Ping lock up after we left,” he sighs. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he’s reaching over, gathering those silky strands up in his fist. “Here. This should work.”
He’s close enough that he makes out the soft noise Zhongli makes in response at his touch; their fingers grazing when he loops his bracelet through. It was a gift from his mother when he made the team years ago, a corded band in shades of blue and green. A tribute to Morepesok, his hometown.
It’s been years since he’s taken it off. A part of him feels strangely bereft, but it suits Zhongli, if anything. It’s a nice consolation.
“Thanks,” Zhongli says, ducking his head. He sounds almost embarrassed, and something about the shyness of it makes his cheeks heat.
Fuck. “No big deal,” Childe mutters, turning away. “See you tomorrow.”
+
The bracelet is on his desk by the time he makes it to school the next day, accompanied by a meticulously-assembled lunch box.
On it, a note. Consider this my thanks for yesterday, Childe reads. He pockets it before he can dwell on it, popping the lid to sneak a peek at Zhongli’s offerings. Grilled squid, potatoes, and meat all mixed together in a spicy broth.
His favorites.
“He’s just being polite,” Childe says out loud, to no one at all. He tries not to think about how it’s one of the nicest things someone has done for him. It works, for the most part.
+
In all fairness, his plans do get derailed when competition season rolls around. He misses Valentine’s Day entirely— much to Tonia’s chagrin, seeing how it is the perfect time for a confession — and barely remembers to pull it together for White Day.
Only for all his efforts to go to waste.
Scaramouche makes a disgusted noise when he spots them rounding the corner. It’s possibly the one time they are both in agreement over something.
“Look, it makes sense that they’d start dating,” Scaramouche snorts. “But do they have to be so blatant about it?”
Childe blinks. There’s a roaring in his ears so loud, it feels almost impossible to muster a response because he’s looking at Zhongli and Lumine striding around with linked arms.
Somehow, he never pegged Zhongli as the type to engage in PDA.
“Childe?”
He snaps back to reality. Zhongli, again, looking at him this time. His thoughts drift unwittingly over to that stupid lunchbox, and the bracelet, and the exposed nape of Zhongli’s neck when he had run his fingers through his hair. A violent surge of nausea rises to his throat just thinking about Lumine doing the same. “What?” he demands, in the most brusque tone he can manage.
“I asked you how the game went,” Zhongli repeats, unfailingly patient.
“Fine,” he says shortly. Against his better judgment, he glances down at their linked arms. There’s a surprising amount of definition to Zhongli’s bicep, at odds with his fingers. Pale, and fine, and long. Pianist hands.
A sharp jab at his sternum, and he scowls, flinching away. “My sandals broke,” Lumine chimes in. She’s surprisingly smug, for someone so deeply inconvenienced. “Zhongli is helping me around until Xiao gets me a new pair of shoes.”
Oh. And just like that, he breathes easily again.
“You shouldn’t even be walking around then,” he says. Then, because he’s always been a showoff, “C’mon, I’ll get you to your seat.”
He scoops her up in a bridal carry. In hindsight, it’s not the best idea — Lumine is one of the most muscled people he knows, and she packs a mean punch when she’s surprised. The gesture earns him a hard one to his ribs that sends him half stumbling.
“Jeez, go easy on me.”
“Put me down and I’ll think about it.”
“I’m helping you to your seat, remember?”
She heaves out a disgruntled noise. “You’re not even walking the right way.”
“Yeah, well,” he stops, readjusting his hold. “It’s deliberate. I need to tell you something.”
The side eye she shoots him is intensely scrutinizing. Childe prides himself on being generally fearless, but he’ll admit to being just slightly, fractionally intimidated.
“What?” Lumine asks, wary. “You might want to make it quick. Xiao is on his way, and he’s hardly your biggest fan.”
Should that be something to mull over? He dismisses that thought before it takes root. “I just wanted to make my intentions clear before you go agreeing to Zhongli. I — I like you.” Her non-reaction is making him uneasy, but there has to be something said about persistence. Childe clears his throat, tries again, “As more than a friend, I mean.”
The silence stretches. He’s not sure, but it’s likely that Lumine’s brows are slowly inching up to her hairline.
“Childe,” she says finally, squinting at him. “Has no one told you this? You’re gay.”
That’s… unexpected. “Wait,” he stammers out, and fuck, why is he thinking of Zhongli right now? “Why would you say that?”
“Because,” she says, flicking at his cheek. “You like Zhongli.”
Has his pulse always been this loud? “You’re delusional,” he sputters, staggering to an immediate stop. “That’s crazy. And fine, other dudes, but why Zhongli of all people?”
“So you agree?”
“What?”
“You agree that you’re gay,” Lumine declares triumphantly, sidling out of his grip. She’s even shorter, barefoot, and he has to crane his neck to scowl down at her. “The good news is that I’m pretty sure Zhongli likes you too. But I’m probably being presumptuous.”
“That’s — really?” Curiosity gets the better of him despite himself. “Why do you think that?”
Her eye roll is distinctly patronizing. “He frets over you all the time,” she groans. “Childe this, and Childe that. Do I know if Childe’s been eating well lately? Is Childe at a match today? Should I buy Childe some energy drinks or will he think I’m being overbearing?” Her approximation of Zhongli’s baritone is eerily accurate. “It drives me nuts. Just smash your faces together, already.”
“I’m —” he tries to picture it. The thought of Zhongli’s face anywhere near his is… well.
It’s kind of nice.
“I’m not fully opposed to it,” Childe mutters, folding his arms across his chest. “It doesn’t mean I like him,” he argues. “I just — I won’t mind, I guess.”
“Dude,” Lumine breathes, shaking her head. “You’re so down bad.”
+
The thing is, Childe is not really sure where to go from here.
It’s easier to cook up a strategy when there aren’t any feelings involved. His approach for Lumine had been downright clinical compared to this. With Zhongli, it’s impossible to focus on anything beyond inane observations of his face (composed); his smile (blinding); even his fucking calves (shapely).
If this is what romance is all about, Childe is considering a refund. It’s pretty fucking exhausting.
“So,” Zhongli begins, after a good hour of wading through trigonometry equations together. “What were you talking to Lumine about?”
Zhongli has never been all that great in deception. It’s blatant in the way he’s deliberately not meeting Childe’s gaze; the erratic beat he’s tapping out with his pencil. He might have found it frustrating, once. For some reason, it comes off more endearing now.
“Not much,” Childe says, and before he can stop himself, “I told her I liked her, I guess. It wasn’t a big deal.”
The pencil in Zhongli’s hand snaps cleanly into two.
“Jesus,” Childe yelps, grabbing at Zhongli’s palm. No splinters, thankfully, but he spies a deep red arc across the crease of his lifelines. “Are you okay? What did you even do that for?”
He blinks. Then, meeting his gaze steadily, “I was jealous.”
It’s an earnest proclamation, albeit a confusing one. For a second, Childe can only stare back in a state of panic, his thoughts a wild, indecipherable tangle.
Jealous of him ?
“Of me beating you to the chase and telling Lumine how I feel?” he asks. And fuck, he feels it. The exact moment his heart sinks, clamminess settling into his skin.
Right.
It’s no use pushing further — he glimpses the exact moment Zhongli’s expression shutters; the rigidness of his stance as he gets to his feet.
“I have to go,” he proclaims woodenly. “I’m not feeling well.”
“You’re fine, ” Childe declares plaintively. It is the moment, though, when Zhongli chooses to wrench himself out of Childe’s grasp, stumbling away with a surprisingly quick gait. “Ah shit, wait!”
Zhongli makes a clean getaway. Childe is not sure how he is still surprised, at this point.
+
In the end, it’s Lumine who interrupts his moping with a terse phone call.
“What did you do to him?” she demands. It’s noisy where she’s at, and he winces at the volume she pitches herself at just to be heard. “How the hell did you fuck things up so fast?”
“I didn’t, ” Childe groans, flopping back down onto his bed. “I can’t believe you’re blaming me, by the way. You set me up for failure!”
“Excuse me?”
He’s this close to losing his shit. “I hate to break it to you Sherlock, but the person Zhongli likes is you, ” Childe spits. “He had a little meltdown when I told him about what happened.”
Lumine scoffs. “Yeah, that’s impossible.”
“You’re dense as a pile of bricks, you know that?”
“No, you are,” Lumine shoots back. “It’s not possible because Zhongli is gay, for one. He is also the one who set me up with my boyfriend, you dumb fuck.”
Everything stops.
“Uh,” Childe breathes. “Come again?”
“You heard me,” she grumbles. “Don’t you dare make this public knowledge. My boyfriend is a private person.”
“Oh,” he says. Then, realization dawning, “It’s Xiao, isn’t it?”
“Just get here,” she snaps, before rattling off an address to a house party. It’s a good five miles away, and it’s close to midnight, but.
It’s — well. It’s Zhongli. So Childe gets to his feet to rustle through his wardrobe for a clean shirt. There’s something fluttering at the base of his stomach, though, insistent and warm, and fuck , he thinks there might be some hope for him after all.
+
He knows he’s found the right place when he spots a scattering of drunk people on the lawn.
“Hey,” Childe says, latching onto the closest person in his path. A boy with braids, and shiny lip gloss smeared haphazardly over his mouth. “Have you seen Zhongli?”
“President of the student council Zhongli?” he hiccups, lurching unsteadily in place. “Yeah! He’s drinking his face off in the kitchen.”
That doesn’t bode well. “Thanks,” Childe manages, pulling back. “Hospital is down the road, by the way,” he adds. “Go get your stomach pumped.”
The boy’s response is lost in the wave of sound when Childe yanks the door open, pushing his way through. He catches sight of several familiar faces — Diluc from debate, Thoma from the track team. Itto. Then, amidst the crowd, a figure he’d recognize anywhere.
Zhongli.
To his credit, he looks miserable . Flushed and tired, and grimacing with every swallow from a clear glass smeared with a myriad of fingerprints. There’s a small stain on his shirt collar, to make things worse — Zhongli will probably be mad about it when he spots it tomorrow morning.
The thought of it floods him with affection. Yeah, this is his guy.
If only he could tell him that.
He sucks in a deep breath, charging forward before he can change his mind. “Zhongli!”
Surprise doesn’t even begin to cover the spectrum of emotion that flashes across his face. For a second, he suspects Zhongli might actually flee. He eventually lands on exasperation, though, his brows pinched together in suspicion. “Childe,” he sighs, massaging at his temples. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“... Now?”
“Now,” he repeats, taking his wrist. His skin is blazing hot under his, and Childe has to resist the urge to rest his thumb over the thrum of his pulse. “Can we go outside?”
Zhongli nods his assent. There’s a drawn-out, sticky moment when he thinks he might pull away once they set off, his expression flickering between unease and anger. It doesn’t happen, though. They make it outside, and he’s still holding onto him, and yeah, Childe is going to take it as a win.
“You’re sweating,” Zhongli observes, the second they descend out into the garden.
“It’s packed in there.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you out of breath, ever,” Zhongli comments absently. “Not even after a game.” He reaches over with his free hand, presses his thumb into the divot of Childe’s wrist bone. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”
He can’t help it, he laughs. “I should be asking you that,” Childe teases. “What, did the president of the student council decide to let off some steam today?”
That gets a smile out of him, if anything. “I was provoked.”
“Yeah?” His heart is racing, and fuck, what if he passes out? “Because I told you I had feelings for Lumine?”
His expression clouds over at that; a steely approximation of his usual calm. “Sure,” he echoes, turning his face away. “Let’s call it that. Maybe I don’t think you deserve her.”
“And I think you’re lying,” he counters, swallowing. “Zhongli. When you said you were jealous, did you mean of me? Or her?”
An agonizing beat. He’s cognizant of the exact moment when Zhongli gives in, lifting his chin to meet his gaze. “You seemed to be under the impression that we were competing for the same girl,” he says, exhaling. “Far be it for me to correct you.”
“We’re not,” he replies. “Because you like me. And I — I return those feelings.”
His reaction is instantaneous. “Childe, don’t tease.”
“I’m not!”
Zhongli is turning a blotchy pink. A red that traverses from his neck all the way up to his ears. It’s cuter than anything he’s ever imagined. “Don’t play it off as a joke. You’re being cruel.”
He’s leaning in before he can second-guess himself, sliding his palms up to the planes of Zhongli’s face. “Does it look like I’m joking?”
His breath fans warmly across his face; a shaky sound. “You’re standing too close for me to tell.”
“Jesus, the nerve of you,” Childe says, before he’s pushing forward on his toes to kiss him. Zhongli makes a soft noise of surprise in his mouth, but doesn’t stiffen. It happens in fragments: Zhongli, pressing back with equal fervor in one breath; sliding his tongue against his in the other. Exhaling his name in the inch of space between them when he pulls back.
“Still think I’m still joking?” he asks. Zhongli’s lips are wet with spit, and his eyes are bright with some emotion he can’t quite place. The back of hair is mussed to a terrible degree thanks to his overenthusiastic petting.
He’s so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at.
“I get it,” he murmurs, pressing forward. His forehead is against his, and his hand is a warm weight on his cheek. “You’re gay.”
A barely-repressed snort. “That’s just the first part.”
“You like me,” Zhongli continues, and he feels his smile against his lips, again and again and again in the kisses that follow. “Message received.”
+
(Lumine heckles them the next day when they walk into class together, hand in hand.
He can’t say he minds. Not when Zhongli decides that making out behind the bleachers is a more conducive way to spend their time anyway.)