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To put it simply, Hu Tao is a decent roommate.
She’s not horrific, like Xiangling, who oftentimes gets a little too distracted with the potentials of dishes to properly clean and pay attention to any household domain that isn’t the kitchen. She isn’t a neat freak, either.
She’s decent. She knows to do her dishes immediately, lest they crust up or worse, develop spores, but she also has a habit of forgetting that her clothes are in the dryer and having to do the whole washer/dryer cycle again.
All said and done, her new roommate was really stressing her out.
First of all, she was mildly resentful when Xingqiu left to go move in with his long-term boyfriend of three years. She had wailed and clung to the other boy, whining about him betraying their friendship.
(“Dude, bros before hoes.” She had said.
“Chongyun is both a bro and a hoe. So he outranks you.” Xingqiu had quickly replied, but had pressed a small kiss to her temple to let her know she didn’t mean it. It was bound to happen. Hu Tao was just happy she had less of a chance of walking in on them when they were fucking.)
So Hu Tao had done the whole thing. Ask around for a new roommate, consider Craigslist–the regular.
The spot ended up going to one of her colleagues, Zhongli, who was more often than not partnered up with her. Despite being older than her, and having the gravitas of an experienced senior, he was content to let her take the lead on what she knew best. She liked him, and she didn’t even think twice about letting him move in.
A fact that she’s somewhat reconsidering now, considering that there’s a laundry basket, with her clothes, dried and neatly folded, right outside her door. She’s completely forgotten that she started laundry earlier on in the day in the first place, but–
She stomps to the door across hers (after jumping across the laundry basket, because Hu Tao can’t be bothered to bend down and drag it inside) and knocks. Once, before getting impatient, and knocking a few times in succession.
She’s just begun to knock the rhythm to a Queen song when the door opens, and Zhongli’s ever-patient gaze focuses on her.
“Yes, Hu Tao?” He asks, voice mellifluous and smooth.
Aw, fuck.
Given that it’s one of their few days off, the consultant is looking rather… delicious, wearing quite literally a black tee and pair of gray sweats. It’s the most uninspired clothing choice ever, though she can’t keep from drinking him in.
“Did you fold my laundry?” She asks, mouth dry. She tries to keep the judgment out of her tone, as she swallows, and prays that she isn’t thirsting over her roommate right now.
“I did.” He says simply, and leans on the doorframe. And okay, wow. Tall men leaning on door frames, peering down at her.. That should be illegal. Because she can’t really think why she was angry in the first place. Or if she was even angry in the first place. “Your clothes would start to smell again if you left it in for too long.”
Well, that sounds rational.
“Oh.” She says, eloquently. “Well, thank you.” What was she here for again?
His lips quirk into a small smile, and something like amusement glitters in his eyes.
“For the future, it would be wise to separate more delicate fabrics to their own wash. Lace is stunning, though it can get eaten up rather quickly. Use a laundry bag next time, hm?” He says, and there’s something in her tone that she can’t decipher quite yet.
“Uh huh.” She says. “I’ll…do just that.” With nothing else to say, she turns tail and runs back into her room, this time actually dragging the laundry basket in. She closes the door behind her and pants, wondering why she’s so… stressed.
Archons.
When did Zhongli get hot?
Trying to push indecent thoughts out of her mind– she settles for shoving her laundry into her drawers. She does her best to not disrupt the carefully folded stacks of shirts and shorts, though her nose crinkles when there’s a softer shirt she doesn’t recognize. She puts everything away, and turns back to the basket, picking up an item.
Fuck.
Fuck her stupid friends, because she remembers exactly when Xinyan got her this stupid lacy black thong and thrown it at her, begging her to get laid sooner or later.
“ Lace is stunning…use a laundry bag next time, hm? ”
Fuck.
There’s no real reason to be embarrassed, aside from the realization that Zhongli, in his unwavering patience with her terrible laundry schedule, must have folded lacy panty after panty. And sure, the visual’s somewhat funny, but the thought of the fabric between his long, slender fingers–
Fuck.
*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*
It’s one of those nights where the two of them aren’t immediately exhausted after coming home from work, and don’t immediately bid each other goodnight and stumble into bed. Instead, the two are in the kitchen, the sound of the kettle providing a comfortable din.
Hu Tao’s just showered – Zhongli can smell the gentle scent of her silk flower soap curling around the kitchen. He hears the pat of her feet as she shuffles into the kitchen.
“Want tea?” He asks, his back to her. He lifts the kettle, steeping his own tea bag, the aroma soothing his senses. Yes, he’ll sleep well tonight.
“Nah.” She chirps, somewhere behind him. “I’m going to snack a little.”
“No sugar.” He reminds. “You know you don’t sleep when you–” He turns, and his eyes widen. Hu Tao has her back to him, is staring at their pantry with a finger against her lip, tapping, wondering what to eat.
But for Zhongli, two realizations occur at once. One, she’s wearing his shirt. It’s a regular dark shirt, sure – but it hangs looser on her, coming down to her upper thighs. Two, as she stretches up, he can see the curve of her skin, milky, and were he a lesser man, he’d curse at his shirt for daring to cover so much.
He’s not, though, and he drops his eyes respectfully– not before he sees a flash of black–and was that lace?
Give him patience.
He sighs, breathing in and out to regain his composure, and curls his hands around his cup of tea, heading over to their table to sit down. He wisely keeps his eyes on his own cup as Hu Tao comes and sinks into the chair opposite to him, scooching so a table no longer separates them. She’s chosen to snack on some nuts, he notes.
The tile is cold, and she’s not wearing her house shoes, as usual. He sighs, and guides her feet to rest on the tops of his own, protecting her soles from the chill.
There’s companionable silence for a moment before he breaks it.
“You’re wearing my shirt.” He says, hoping his voice is light and as casual as he wants it to be. If it’s otherwise, Hu Tao doesn’t say otherwise. She glances down at the shirt, as though surprised.
“Huh.” She says. “No wonder! I didn’t recognize it.”
“Must have gotten mixed up in the laundry.” He says, albeit a bit weakly, because the sight of her curled in her chair is doing things to his heart that he doesn’t think he has the potential to explain.
“Mm, maybe.” Hu Tao hums, and then delicately lifts the collar of the shirt to her nose, inhaling.
“It’s nice, though. It’s comfy. It smells like you.” She says, and that pink mouth is quite literally damning him to hell.
Because as suave as he is, something about the realization that Hu Tao most likely reeks of the cologne that seems to cling to his fabrics, makes him a little insane. She’s drowning in his shirt, his scent, and a part of him wants to gather her up in his arms and press kisses to that mouth until it’s stained ruby.
He doesn’t– instead settles for a very strained “You can keep it,” Which is easily the stupidest thing that’s come out of his mouth. Why he thought he could handle her walking around like this, he doesn’t know.
She beams at him though, and that’s enough to make the internal war worth it.
It seems though, that she has a different idea of what that means, because for the next week, Hu Tao doesn’t wear any one of her regular clothes. Her wardrobe suddenly means borrowing from him, and his mental capacities absolutely plummet. It’s hard enough seeing her wear button ups too big, but stylized just right in a way that only she could pull them off at work, but at home, it’s a different sort of torture. It’s a constant rotation of his shirts being worn as dresses. He’s started to suspect she’s not really wearing anything under.
Fuck.