Chapter Text
“Alright, I’m heading out!” Childe throws his jacket over his shoulders and tugs his boots on as he waits for his husband to put his book down, pull himself out of The Comfy Chair, and make his way out to the hallway to bid Childe goodbye.
“You are leaving early today.” Zhongli appears from the front room, the crease that always appears when he doesn’t want Childe to leave forming in his brow.
“Well, not all of us have the luxury of our employer not caring if we don’t show up until lunchtime.” Childe quickly pecks him briefly on the cheek. “Apparently when you go debt collecting, you’re supposed to write a report about it. I don’t get why—the bank has the money back already—but Ekaterina will murder me in my sleep if I don’t get this paperwork to her today.”
One crease becomes two. “Such a punishment seems rather excessive, even considering the Fatui’s usual modus operandi.”
“Relax! It’s just a figure of speech. But I still have to get this done, alright?”
Childe kisses him again, on the lips this time, and lets the moment linger, taking sanctuary in Zhongli’s warmth, in the way Zhongli reflexively wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. Just him and Zhongli—life is perfect. Even if his work takes him to the far corners of Teyvat, his path always flows back to Zhongli, like the tide returning to the shore.
Reluctantly, Childe breaks the kiss. “Alright, I better head off, lest I face Ekaterina’s wrath.”
As he steps back, he hits his hip against one of the ornament-filled cabinets lining the hallway. There’s a low rocking sound and he wheels around to find a vase the size of his head tumbling toward him as Zhongli lets out a short gasp.
Drat. Drat drat drat.
Childe reaches, hands extended.
He catches it neatly, dropping into a crouch to absorb the momentum, slowing himself and the vase to a stop.
The vase—a gaudy orange thing—sits between his palms, unharmed.
“Phew, got it.” He presents it proudly to Zhongli. “Look, no harm done.”
“Indeed,” says Zhongli, as he takes it from Childe. “What a terrible shame it would have been, had this hallway not had such a vibrant shade to compliment the remainder of the decor.”
Placing the vase on the shelf, Zhongli sighs, rearranging a number of other ornaments in front of it so that the orange is neatly concealed behind a barricade of jade. If he were to glance over in passing, Childe might even suspect that it wasn’t there at all.
“You know, if you don’t like it, you can get rid of it.”
“Unthinkable.” Zhongli clicks his tongue. “It was a gift from Cloud Retainer. Although the object possesses certain aesthetic issues, it is the sentiment behind it which must be valued.”
“Must you? Or do you just think you have to? You have loads of stuff from her, she won’t miss one vase not being here next time she visits.”
“If only such a statement were true.” Zhongli locks his gaze onto the opposite wall, the ghost of an unknown incident from centuries past haunting his expression. Then he snaps back to the present moment and gives Childe a small, strained smile. “But no matter, the current situation is a more than adequate compromise.”
“Alright, have it your way.” With a shrug, Childe kisses Zhongli on the cheek and steps toward the door. There’s no changing Zhongli’s mind once he’s set on something, and he has more important things to be doing (according to Ekaterina, anyway), than arguing about unfashionable vases. “See you tonight. Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone.”
“Trouble? I have no idea of what you could mean.”
Childe spends the morning withering under the twin forces of Liyue’s heat and the seven soul crushing piles of paperwork Ekaterina dumps on his desk.
“But Katya,” he protests as she returns with the final stack, “I have a spar agreed with Vlad this afternoon. You aren’t expecting me to do all of this today, are you? I’m a man of my word, you know, and I never miss an appointment.”
“Then I hope that Lord Harbinger finds his morning a productive one. Additionally, it was to my knowledge that Master Childe was supposed to be on leave. Resting.”
“I am resting! What better way to rest and recuperate than with a little friendly spar?”
“Nothing, Master Childe, nothing,” says Ekaterina through pursed lips before leaving the office, closing the door with a less-than-subtle clunk.
He makes it through, somehow, despite the sweat dripping from his brow to form little drops of perspiration on the pages. When he finally stuffs the documents in Ekaterina’s hands at one minute to twelve, Childe is free. He meets Vlad for their spar (he wins, of course), takes a few hours to himself to train his bladework, then returns to the bank in the late afternoon, cleaning himself up in his personal washroom (Harbinger privileges).
Concluding it a good day’s work, Childe sees himself out, lengthening his stride as Ekaterina starts to open her mouth, and waving her off with a, “Have a great evening, Katya!”
There’s an unfamiliar bustle in the city, a trail of people hurrying toward the square near Third-Round Knockout, while others return from the same direction with sacks filled with fruits, vegetables, and long, baked goods that he recognises from his time in Fontaine.
What’re they called again? Baguettes, he thinks, but his memory of Fontaine remains hazy in the wake of the injuries he sustained during his battle against the narwhal, a series of scenes set through a fog that he can never quite push through.
Baguettes. He’s going with baguettes.
A couple of children have gotten hold of their parents’ baguettes and are swinging them at each other, stabbing and parrying with the reckless abandon that children who haven’t seen the reality of the battlefield are disposed to.
His older brothers liked to tease him like that, when he was that age. They would pick up sticks from the forest, hand him one, and then the battle would commence, his short arms and uncoordinated swings unable to land a single hit against them. Young Ajax had cried in frustration more than once, but now the memory brings nostalgia flooding through him, and he smiles. They were good days, despite everything. He would fight them again now, man to man, stick to stick, but his older brothers don’t seem to like those games any more.
In any case, he’s not here to fight anyone else today (sadly), so he does the next best thing and follows the crowd towards Third-Round Knockout.
As he approaches, a delectable aroma greets him: the homely scent of Fontainian bread, a hit of Sumeran spice, the heavy undertones of Mondstadtian wine, and the floral touch of sakura from an Inazuman sweets stall.
An international market? Childe picks up his stride and hurries toward the stalls. While in Liyue, he doesn’t always have access to the array of ingredients he’s used to, but today he does, and that means it’s cooking night. It’s time that Zhongli experiences some variety in his palette—not the octopus again, not after last time—but something simpler. A nice Snezhnayan soup? Yes, soup is good.
He emerges from the maze of stalls half an hour later, arms stuffed with bags of fresh produce—some for the soup, and some that he intends to find recipes for later—and makes his way home.
It’s quiet when he opens the door and stumbles into the hallway, struggling to fit his haul through the door frame. One bag threatens to leap from his arms to a smashed-tomatoey death, but he manages to catch it between his stomach and the wall and sets it down, listening out for any hint of Zhongli.
There’s a rustling from the bedroom, the door set ajar and the lights off, and Childe shakes his head with a chuckle. Of course. “Taking a small break from work,” as Zhongli would put it. Childe doesn’t understand how he gets away with skiving off so often. How many naps and tea breaks does he need, anyway?
Nevertheless, if Zhongli is asleep, that means there’s time to do some sneaky cooking for him. Childe heads to the kitchen and sets down his spoils on the counter, emptying the bags and setting the ingredients on the counter while he figures out exactly where he’s going to put all of this.
As he works, the back of his neck prickles, and his hands beg for the grip of a weapon to close around.
Something is wrong.
He turns around, scanning the room, but there’s no one there. The only sounds are his own breathing, and a rustling from the bedroom as Zhongli shifts in his sleep.
It’s fine. It’s just him and Zhongli.
Just as it should be.
Childe returns to his task, pondering over the pile of food in front of him. Most of it will fit in the lower cupboards, but maybe he went a bit overboard with the rest. No matter, with a bit of tactical reshuffling he can clear some space in the top cabinet, and soon he’ll emerge victorious over his problematic produce.
He stacks boxes on boxes and turns containers upright that were previously laid flat, forming a convenient nest in the centre of the shelf.
Reaching down to grab a stray potato, Childe’s elbow collides with something hard, long, and round, sending it plummeting toward the floor.
Drat, there goes the cucumber.
The cucumber thuds to the ground, and simultaneously a small, brown, furry creature launches itself into the air with a hiss. With a growl, the creature ambushes Childe’s ankle, dagger-like teeth sinking into him.
Childe yelps, shaking his foot and launching the creature across the kitchen. It soars through the air before plummeting to the ground. It slides a few feet further, then scrambles to its feet, its paws skittering and skidding as it searches for grip. With another hiss, the creature races out of the kitchen and into the hallway, a long tail trailing along the ground after it.
It’s a rat! A really big rat!
Zhongli can’t see this. Not in his home.
Childe launches himself after the rat as it skids around the corner into the living room. It darts onto the coffee table, watching him with what can only be described as contempt.
“You can’t stay in here, little guy.” Childe creeps toward it, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible. “Zhongli will be really upset if he finds out there’s rats in the house, so if you’ll just come with me…”
Reaching toward the creature, he’s met with a flurry of paws, claws, and teeth, a tiny ball of anger yowling at him with unhinged ferocity. Childe snaps his hand away and watches as the angry brown blob dives from the table into the gap beneath the sofa. There it stops, a low growl bubbling in its throat and, when he crouches down to get a look at it, two dark, beady eyes glare at him from within the darkness.
“Come on, buddy, this way, come on now…” Childe reaches toward the rat.
The rat yowls and swipes at him with claws sharper than Childe recalls rats having, scooting further back under the sofa. With a sigh, Childe sits up on his knees and wipes a layer of sweat from his forehead.
Who knew a rat could cause so much trouble? But before long all this noise is going to wake up Zhongli. This ends here. No mere rat will get the better of Harbinger Tartaglia, Vanguard of Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa, Number One Weapon of Snezhnaya’s enemies.
He braces against the sofa, wrapping his hands underneath the frame, and in a single movement he flips it up, darting forward to grab the rat by the scruff of the neck. The sofa topples backward, knocking a vase off the table on the way. The vase shatters on the floor at the same time as the sofa crashes to the ground, and Childe is left lying on the floor, the snarling creature dangling from his hand, stumpy legs flailing and teeth bared.
It’s fluffy for a rat, and the tail is long and full, covered with sleek brown fur and a golden tuft at the tip. A golden mane frames its face, and twin antlers sit atop its head, a tiny horn poking out from its forehead.
Hang on, this isn’t a rat. In fact, this looks strangely like—
“Childe?” Zhongli’s voice sounds from the direction of the doorway. “Has there been an incident?”
Drat.
Childe scrambles to his feet the best he can with the not-rat attempting to savage him. “Ah, hey, Zhongli. There was a bit of an issue, but as you can see, I have it in hand—literally.” He waves his prize at Zhongli in illustration of his point. “I don’t know where it came from, but don’t you worry—I was about to put the little guy outside, and I’ll have the rest of this cleaned up before you know it!”
Zhongli frowns, looking from the smashed vase, to the upturned sofa, to the creature in Childe’s hand. “Oh. It appears there has been a slight miscommunication on my behalf.”
The creature stops snarling and instead starts mewling, waving its paws toward Zhongli.
“A…miscommunication?” Childe crosses the room, keeping the creature held at a safe distance in front of him. “Then I’ll hazard a guess that this is yours?”
“Indeed.” Zhongli holds out his arms and Childe deposits the creature there, watching on as Zhongli proceeds to cradle it like a baby. “Hello, my friend, it appears you have had quite the eventful evening.”
“You can say that again,” says Childe. “It came up to me while I was cooking and bit me! Right here!” He points to the bottom of his pants, where two fang-shaped holes are torn through the fabric. “A bit rude, if you ask me.”
Zhongli looks down at the creature and tuts gently. “Now, now, my friend, what has upset you so, that you saw it necessary to defend yourself in such a way? Childe is no threat, as you can see.”
The creature looks at Childe and growls.
Zhongli looks at Childe.
“Hey, I did nothing, I promise!” Childe holds up his hands and takes a step back. This isn’t fair. This is two against one. “I was putting away the vegetables, I accidentally dropped a cucumber, and it bit me!”
“Oh dear. You poor thing.”
“It’s not that bad, it didn’t break the skin or anything, but… Hey!”
Zhongli isn’t talking to him. Zhongli is addressing the creature, stroking its head with a finger and making soothing noises.
“Hey, I’m the one who got bitten here,” protests Childe. “Where’s my sympathy?”
Zhongli looks up and blinks once, then nods his head, addressing Childe’s newfound nemesis once more. “Indeed. Little friend, I understand that this may have been an unsettling experience for you, but Childe is no threat. On the contrary, he is my beloved, and poses no threat to you; he did not wield the cucumber with malicious intent. I trust that you can forgive him and that you will not inflict him with further bodily harm.”
The creature growls, but nods its head, and Zhongli hums happily.
“Excellent, it appears we have reached an accord.”
“You still haven’t told me what it even is.” Childe steps closer, not taking his eyes off of the fanged menace. “I don’t think I’ve seen any creature like that before, apart from your exuvia, but that was much bigger, and…” Childe trails off. “Wait, is that—?”
It is. It’s a tiny, plump exuvia. But this makes no sense. The exuvia is Zhongli, and Zhongli is Zhongli. There can’t be two of him.
Zhongli chuckles and adjusts the creature to lie snugly in the crook of his arm. “You are not incorrect. Our friend here both is, yet isn’t, a part of myself. It would seem that his existence sprouted forth from an offshoot of Geo energy that came loose from an ancient seal that currently secures a sentimental item of mine in Jueyun Karst. Upon taking a stroll earlier today, I found our friend wandering lost on the road and so, taking responsibility for a lifeform of my own creation, I brought him here, so that he might find a home.”
“So it’s going to be living with us,” says Childe flatly.
Great. Just great.
The creature wriggles its tail smugly, and it takes all of Childe’s self control not to pry it from Zhongli’s arms and toss it out of the window. If it’s going to be a guest, it can at least be humble about it. Did its family never teach it any manners?
“Yes,” says Zhongli. “It is my responsibility to care for him, and so here he must remain.”
“It bit me!”
“It should not happen again; our poor friend was spooked, it would seem, and so acted out of instinct. So long as there are no more cucumbers dropped in his vicinity, I do not foresee a similar issue.”
So this is it. Childe’s fate is decided. He has to share Zhongli with this thing. He wouldn’t mind a nice, normal pet. Dogs are great. Rescue teams back in Snezhnaya use them all the time to help find lost people following a snowstorm or avalanche, sniffing out those trapped, and comforting the rescued with their thick, snuggly winter coats.
Dogs are nice.
Whatever this is, is not nice.
But there’s no point arguing. Zhongli’s heart is set on the not-rat, and he won’t be dissuaded.
“Fine,” Childe relents. “But it doesn’t sleep on the bed. And if it’s going to be living with us, it needs a name. Unless—” he smiles ever-so-sweetly at the creature “—you’d rather be called Rat. That’s fine with me, truly.”
The not-rat hisses.
“A name, yes,” says Zhongli. “What should we call you by, my little friend?”
“Oh, I have an idea!” Childe pokes the creature’s tummy and it swipes his legs at him, although they’re too short to reach. “It’s kinda like a chunky version of your exuvia, and it’s also kind of you but not you, so we should combine them and call it Chonkli!”
Truthfully, it’s hard to see any resemblance between the heavenly, elegant, refined Zhongli and this screeching mess of a creature, but if that’s what Zhongli is telling him, he’ll go along with it. For now.
Chonkli grumbles and swipes at Childe again, but stops when Zhongli nods slowly and starts to speak.
“‘Chonkli’? Yes, an apt name indeed, representing both the physical and existential traits of our friend here.” He smiles down at Chonkli and pats its head. “What do you think, my friend? Do you like this name?”
Chonkli wriggles and lets out a small squeak.
Oh, so it’s all smiles now that Zhongli says it? Typical.
“Excellent.” Setting Chonkli on the floor, Zhongli leans over to place a kiss on Childe’s cheek. “And I also believe that I am overdue in wishing you a good evening. Welcome home.”
Childe returns it with a kiss to Zhongli’s lips, the tension melting from him under the soothing touch of his husband’s hand coming to rest on his waist. He breaks the kiss with a smile, leaving a peck on Zhongli’s nose for good measure. “Good to see you too. And sorry about the mess. I’ll get it cleaned up, make us dinner, and then I say we head to bed and have some alone time.”
There’s a grunt at his feet, and when he looks down, Chonkli is pawing at Zhongli’s shoe, making a series of rumbly, disgruntled sounds. It looks up and Childe sticks his tongue out.
He’s Zhongli’s favourite. This intruder isn’t going to change that.
Chonkli darts forward to nip at Childe’s sock before winding between Zhongli’s legs, rubbing its cheek against his calf.
Zhongli doesn’t seem to notice the feud, stepping back to look over the upturned living room. “That sounds like a fine plan indeed. And worry not on the mess; there is no harm done, save for the vase, although all things considered, perhaps it was due to be replaced. Now that introductions have been made and we are all acquainted, shall we work together to return our home to order? I am certain that Chonkli will have no objection to assisting us.”
Chonkli stops its weaving and butts its head against Zhongli’s leg with a chirp.
“Thank you, my friend. Then shall we get to work? And may this day mark the start of a prosperous new friendship between us.”
Zhongli passes Childe to begin picking up pieces of the shattered vase, leaving Childe and Chonkli standing in the doorway.
Chonkli glowers at him, its mane standing up and its fur raised like tiny needles.
Childe glares at Chonkli, the usurper of Zhongli’s affection and Childe’s newly declared archnemesis.
A prosperous new friendship?
Yeah, right.