Work Text:
A sudden noise from the lower floor sprang up and hit Lumine’s ears, pulling her out from her journey into the dream realm. She let out an almost painful groan as her mind was yanked out from its shallow slumber, the pain behind her eyes stinging uncomfortably. Lumine had never been a heavy sleeper, her rest for the night had been more and more difficult to achieve too, especially during these weeks when she had just moved in this neighborhood and having to come to terms with the fact that she then had a housemate, which was, an unusual ginger-head man whose job were best not come to light.
Yes, Lumine very much would prefer to have a rented house of her own to hoard all her things and do all the work inside it without anyone bothering her. But the case of finding her missing brother had been hitting a dead end lately, and it was anything but cheap to chase after the shadow and clues of her brother. It was undoubtedly a shame to admit that, Lumine’s wallet was malnourished. No other option, she had to settle with a good house with the price of having a housemate and having her personal space invaded occasionally. Not that Tartaglia (or Childe, as he said he wanted her to address him by that name) – her housemate, was annoying or unhygienic or had the habit of hoarding and stuffs, he was just a tad bit, if you don’t want to say a handful, strange.
Firstly, everyone around here was anything you can see, but a ginger? That was a rare sight alright. Childe’s hair was mostly messy despite Lumine noticing him brushing it every morning. That was strange. At least his hair condition was clean and soft to the touch. Wanting to know why Lumine could confirm that? Well, it was just one time Childe had a facetime call with one of his friends, and apparently the man lost in some kind of silly challenge. The one on the other end of the phone caught a glimpse of Lumine working on her newest clue of her brother on her laptop in the background, then they decided that Childe must ask Lumine to tie his hair up into at least one bun as punishment for him. The idea was strange on its own already. Lumine at that time wanted to shake this person’s collar and ask them, Don’t you see how fricking short his hair is? Are you blind?
…
Fine, she admitted she was a bit aggressive. Work had been stressful, and changes of the environment did indeed manage to tire her out, no matter how resilient (or hard-headed, as her damned missing brother had said) she was usually.
Yeah, long story short, she had her chance to run her fingers through Childe’s hair. She didn’t have her hopes up, so it was quite a surprise for her to find that his hair was clean and smooth, unlike how matted and unruly they seemed. The sensation of the brownish red strands slipping and unfurling between her fingers was enjoyable enough to soothe her annoyance at the absurdity of the punishment Childe had to comply with.
His hair is just like his personality, alright.
But really, would it hurt him to turn down such a ridiculous punishment?
…
Back to reality. What is it this time now? She wondered, and considered getting out of bed. Unlike other times, she had this sudden urge to step out of her room and check up on Childe. The noise was sharp and quite big, like someone dropped something made of metal onto the marble floor of their house.
Lumine was pretty sure the noise came from the kitchen.
And then she widened her eyes. Shit! Did he…
She slammed the door open and rushed to the kitchen.
Childe did not know what the heck was wrong with him anymore.
First, he was standing here in the kitchen, a bunch of ingredients in front of him, and half-baked scrolled through recipe for pancakes on his phone. A few minutes of inactivity had passed, his phone screen then darkened and went full black. His phone locked itself, like how it should do. Like how he should have done with his feelings when he was working.
…
He screwed up his most recent mission.
…
Childe knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself from recalling the whole mission again and again, only to self-torture by showing his stupid rationality how he could have completed it with ease just by a little bit more consideration and care. Well, the truth was still that he failed it (oh how he would kill to change the sentence into “nailed it”) beautifully (which means it was unredeemable and beyond salvage).
This time’s failure was so bad and caused Childe so much guilt that he had been having nightmare for days.
Sighing, he rubbed his stinging eyes while closing them for a moment, because right now it seemed like even the warm light of the kitchen was burning his irises. His eyes felt so dry. Which made sense since he had barely enough sleep last night, the night before that, and the night of the night before that. Just rubbing them now couldn’t provide them with their much-needed moisture anymore.
Oh, how he would absolutely kill for a peaceful sleep right now.
As much as he wanted to claim himself as a very much strong and brave man, he couldn’t help but feel so depressed, frustration and sadness oozing from the corners of his mind and heart, squeezing his mind in their firm grip, choking him, and depriving him of his right to breathe and to be at ease... Gradually, without him noticing, Childe’s hand – which was whisking some kind of batter, came to a halt as a panging headache managed to sneak up on him. The tendons in his arm tighten and flex abruptly, forcing him to let go of the metal bowl.
Childe slumped down to the floor. The cold of the marble surface beneath him permeated into his skin through his clothes and seeped into his throbbing heart, merging with the icy pain that was already there.
Lumine rushed right to the kitchen with surprising speed. It was a miracle how she didn’t trip even once when she walked down the stairs in such a haste.
And there Childe was, hugging his own legs while sitting on the cold marble floor, his back pressed against the leg of their dining table. He looked like a mess, heavy bags under his eyes, his hair ruffled up and the strands tangled together, his shirt rumpled and an odd pair of socks on his feet. The man looked depressed. Like he was about to jump out of a window and if he didn’t die he would bite his own tongue and then proceed to pass the fuck out while dying from blood loss.
So strange, considering how bright and sunshine-like he usually was.
But checking on Childe was just Lumine’s second objective, though. And he was still alive and well. Her eyes glanced around to check her first and foremost priority.
Her favorite bowl. Yes, a metal one.
…
It was on the floor, a mixture of something inside it, Lumine assumed it was something like a pancake batter. The poor thing seemed to have been over-whisked so much it couldn’t even spill out on the floor; the consistency was so thick she was sure it could even scare a herd of very angry British chefs away.
She pinched her forehead, sighing and trying not to let out a screech because Childe managed to leave a dent on the bottom of the bowl by dropping it so brutally like how she’d heard him. Lumine looked at him again.
Alright, okay. He was looking way too pitiful to receive a scolding from her. Would have to delay it then.
She sat down next to him, the tip of their shoulders and the side of their arms touching. She knew some physical contact could really help when times like this come. Lumine observed Childe’s face more carefully, not saying anything yet. Wow, he really looked sleep-deprived. A pretty serious case at that. She continued to remain silent though, she just knew Childe could feel her gaze on him.
She was right. And naturally, after a while, Childe licked his dry lips and spoke up, his voice hoarse.
“… Sorry.”
“You can pay for its repair later. And if you don’t, it’s fine by me too.”
“You… are not replacing it?”
“Why should I? It’s still usable, and it’s just a small dent on a whole very high-quality bowl.”
“I see…”
“The bowl itself also carries some memories with it too, my missing brother gave me it. So, it has a lot of worth. The bowl alone is evidence of my brother’s love for me. So, its existence alone is already worth a lot. A dent will not change how I see it, or change how important it is to me.”
“…”
“Besides, this may sound cliché, but instead of staying here doing nothing but grieving and frustrating over a dent of this bowl, I might as well do something about it. Blaming myself for this dent, or blaming you, is not a possible option, by the way.”
Childe was silent, not giving her any kind of response. But Lumine knew he was already thinking, and he was thinking hard.
“I think I can fix it by myself too. But…”
“… But?” Childe’s face brightened a bit as he felt slightly better, the lump inside his throat going away and the freezing guilt slowly melted. He asked, curious.
Lumine gave him a hard knock on his head with her knuckle. The force she used for the knock was painful, making white stars pop out in front of his eyes. Childe couldn't help but grit out a muted hiss.
She smiled, friendly, menacingly, “Mr. Tartaglia, would you like me to remind you who caused a dent on my favorite bowl in the first place? Why should I be the one to repair it??”
“Ah… Ha ha ha…” Childe smiled back, the cold sweat on his back dripped down nervously. He suddenly felt death caressing the back of his neck so lovingly.
He swallowed and cleared his throat, obediently gave Lumine an answer, “I promise I will fix it for you! No worries.”
Childe’s chest lightened even more than before, and he huffed out a laugh as he nudged Lumine’s shoulder. The blonde girl’s lips curl up, pleased, a different kind of smile on her face than before.
“If you cannot fix it I swear I will crush each of your finger’s bones.”
“…”
“I’m just joking. I’m not that violent. Although..”
“Although…? Please spare me, miss Lumine.”
“Although, I think I’m a pretty good fixer myself, don’t you think so too, Childe?”
“… Yeah. Yeah you are.”
Lumine snorted, and punched him lightly on the shoulder, “Thanks for saying the truth out loud,” She smiled, genuinely, her eyes rolled in fond annoyance.
“Now get up and clean your damn mess. You ruined my kitchen.”
“Alright, alright.”
“…”
“And it’s our kitchen, Lumine.”
“Ah right, Childe.”
“What?”
“What were you trying to make here?”
“Oh, pancakes. That’s all.”