Work Text:
The Xianzhou Luofu was transformed for the Starlight Festival, a rare celebration blending the Luofu’s celestial elegance with visiting cultures’ traditions. Lanterns in every shade of gold, crimson, and teal floated above the bustling streets, their soft glow mingling with the scent of grilled skewers and sweet rice dumplings. Musicians played zithers alongside drums, and stalls overflowed with trinkets, from jade charms to holographic critter figurines.
Ruan Mei stood at the crowd's edge, her usual elegant qipao swapped for a flowing, orchid-embroidered dress that shimmered faintly under the lantern light. She held a notebook, jotting observations about the festival’s “social biochemistry”, how laughter raised serotonin, how shared meals bonded strangers. But her focus kept slipping, drawn to the figure weaving through the crowd toward her.
“Keeping the festival at arm’s length, huh?” Childe’s voice cut through the noise, teasing but warm. He stepped into view, his usual gray jacket replaced with a sleek, maroon shirt accented with colorful embroidery, a nod to his homeland that suited him a little too well, Ruan Mei noted. His vision dangled at his hip, catching the light as he grinned. “Come on, genius, you can’t study life from the sidelines.”
Ruan Mei tucked her notebook away, her expression composed but her eyes betraying a flicker of curiosity. “I’m observing,” she said. “Festivals are fascinating, they're temporary ecosystems of joy and chaos. I’m trying to understand why they work.”
Childe laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “They work because people let go for once. Like this—” He grabbed her hand, tugging her gently into the flow of the crowd before she could protest. Her first instinct was to pull back; control was her domain, after all, but his grip was warm, steady, and infuriatingly reassuring.
“Where are we going?” she asked, sounding exasperated and amused as they dodged a group of kids waving sparklers.
“You’ll see!” Childe’s grin was mischievous, his blue eyes glinting with the same reckless energy he brought to a fight. “Trust me, I know how to navigate a festival.”
They wove through the streets, Childe leading her like he’d memorized the alley’s every twist. At a stall selling lotus-shaped lanterns, he bartered playfully with the vendor, tossing in a few Luofo slang terms that made Ruan Mei raise an eyebrow. He handed her a lantern, its delicate frame glowing softly. “For you,” he said. “Write a wish on it, and we’ll set it afloat.”
Ruan Mei tilted her head, studying the lantern as if it were a lab specimen. “A wish? That’s… unscientific. There’s no evidence that thoughts manifest through paper and candlelight.”
“Maybe not,” Childe said, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “But it’s fun. Humor me, Mei.”
Her lips twitched at the nickname; nobody else dared shorten her name. She hesitated, then took the brush he offered, her movements precise as she wrote something in her elegant script. Childe tried to peek, but she angled the lantern away, her expression smug. “It’s private,” she said, and he laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.
They carried their lanterns to the canal, where dozens of others bobbed on the water, each a tiny star. As they set theirs afloat, Childe’s hand brushed hers, lingering just long enough to send a flutter through her chest. She glanced at him, expecting a teasing remark, but he was watching the lanterns, his face softened by the glow.
“You look… thoughtful,” she said, surprising herself with the observation.
He turned to her, his grin returning but quieter, almost shy. “Yeah, well, I was thinking, this festival’s nice, but it’s better with you here. You make everything… sharper, somehow.”
Ruan Mei blinked, caught off guard. She was used to analyzing things like emotions, not feeling them so vividly. “You’re distractingly poetic tonight,” she murmured, but her cheeks warmed ever so slightly, and she didn’t look away.
The night spun on. Childe dragged her to a dance circle, where he twirled her with the same fluid grace he used in combat, laughing when she stepped on his toes with scientific precision. She retaliated by challenging him to a game of ring toss at a stall, her aim eerily perfect, earning them a plush critter that Childe insisted on carrying “for team morale.” At a food stall, they shared a plate of sticky rice dumplings, Childe feeding her a piece before she could protest, his smirk daring her to react.
“You’re impossible,” she said, licking sugar from her fingers, but her smile betrayed her.
“And you look pretty when you’re flustered,” he shot back, dodging the napkin she flicked at him.
As fireworks bloomed overhead, painting the sky in bursts of color, they found a quiet spot by the canal. Ruan Mei leaned against the railing, her shoulder brushing Childe’s. For once, she didn’t feel the need to analyze or dissect, but to just live in the moment.
“What was your wish?” Childe asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.
Ruan Mei glanced at him, her teal eyes catching the firelight. “If I tell you, it won’t come true,” she said, but her tone was playful. Then, after a pause, she added, “Let’s just say… I wished for more nights like this.”
Childe’s grin was brighter than the fireworks. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
As the festival hummed around them, Ruan Mei let herself lean a little closer, her heart warm with a hypothesis she didn’t need to test: whatever this was with Childe, it was worth every unpredictable moment.
✦
Rain pattered softly against the windows of Ruan Mei's apartment, a programmed ambiance she had dialed to “soothing” for her rare evening off. She sat on a plush rug, a steaming cup of recreated Yaoqing spiced tea in her hands. A holographic tablet hovered nearby, displaying notes on “emotional volatility under intoxication,” but she hadn’t touched it in ten minutes.
The reason for her distraction was sprawled across her couch, one arm dangling off the edge, his red mask lying on the table beside an empty bottle of rice wine. Childe, self-proclaimed “connoisseur of chaos,” had shown up an hour ago after their time together at the Starlight Festival with the bottle, claiming he wanted to “test the limits of Xianzhou hospitality.” Now, his shirt was rumpled, his auburn hair a mess, and his grin far too wide for someone who’d just tried to serenade her orchids.
“Mei, Mei, Mei,” Childe slurred, sitting up with the enthusiasm of a puppy and nearly toppling off the couch. “Did you know—hic—your flowers are judging me? That one—” he pointed at a particularly innocent orchid, “—it’s got opinions.”
Ruan Mei sighed, setting her tea down with deliberate precision. “That’s because you’re loud,” she said, her voice cool but laced with exasperation. “And you drank an entire bottle of Qiongji wine in thirty minutes. I told you to pace yourself.”
“Pace’s boring!” He waved a hand, nearly knocking over a stack of her research journals. “Life’s for living, y’know? Like, like fighting a sea monster, or… or dancing with you.” His blue eyes, glassy but earnest, fixed on her, and his grin softened into something dangerously charming. “We should dance, Mei. Right now.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose, her composure fraying like a poorly woven hypothesis. Inviting Childe over had been a calculated risk; she’d wanted to discuss embroidery techniques, not babysit a drunken grown man. But there he was, all reckless warmth and terrible ideas, making her apartment feel less like a lab and more like… home. It was infuriating and a little endearing.
“No dancing,” she said firmly, standing to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchenette. “You’re going to hydrate, sit still, and stop antagonizing my plants.”
Childe pouted, flopping back onto the couch with a dramatic groan. “You’re so serious. Bet I could make you smile, though. C’mere, I’ll tell you a secret.” He patted the cushion beside him, looking far too pleased with himself.
Ruan Mei ignored the invitation, returning with the water and a damp cloth she’d grabbed on impulse. “Drink,” she ordered, thrusting the glass into his hands. He took it, but his fingers fumbled, spilling a few drops onto his shirt. She tsked, her scientist’s instinct for order kicking in, and leaned forward to dab at the stain with the cloth before she could second-guess herself.
“Whoa, Miss Ruan Mei’s personal service?” Childe’s voice was teasing, but he leaned into her touch, his face closer than she’d anticipated. “Careful, I might get used to this.”
Her hand froze, and she met his gaze, her teal eyes narrowing. “Stop that,” she muttered, but her cheeks warmed as she resumed wiping the spill, more gently now. His shirt was soft under her fingers, and she could feel the heat of him through the fabric, a variable she hadn’t accounted for.
“Insufferably cute ,” he corrected, catching her wrist with surprising gentleness. “C’mon, admit it, you like me like this. All… vulnerable and stuff.”
Ruan Mei pulled her hand back, folding her arms to hide the flutter in her chest. “I like you quiet ,” she said, but the lie was thin, and her lips twitched upward despite herself. “Now drink the water, or I’ll synthesize a sobriety serum and test it on you.”
He laughed, loud and bright, but obeyed, gulping the water with exaggerated delight. “Fine, fine, Miss Ruan Mei wins.”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed a blanket from a nearby chair, and tossed it over him. “Lie down. You’re a liability.”
Childe caught the blanket, tugging it around himself like a cape. “Only if you join me,” he said, patting the couch again, his voice softer now, almost hopeful. “Please? I’ll behave. Promise.”
Ruan Mei hesitated, her reluctance warring with the warmth pooling in her chest. She wasn’t used to caring for someone, anyone, for that matter, especially someone who was so chaotic, so present . Her life was controlled and measured by a series of experiments with predictable outcomes. But Childe was a variable she couldn’t quantify, and somehow, that made her want to stay.
“Fine,” she said, at last, sitting beside him with an indifferent expression. “But if you try to sing again, I’m locking you in the storage closet.”
He chuckled, scooting closer under the blanket, his shoulder brushing hers. “Deal. You’re stuck with me now, though.”
She didn’t respond, just pulled the blanket higher to cover them both, her movements careful but not unkind. Childe’s head tilted toward her, his eyes half-lidded, the alcohol softening his usual bravado into something rawer. “You’re kind, Mei,” he mumbled, his voice slurring again. “Like… really kind. Don’t tell anyone, but I think about you all the time.”
Her breath caught, and for a moment, she just stared at him, his flushed face and messy hair somehow more disarming than any of his usual teasing. “You’re drunk,” she said softly.
“Maybe,” he murmured, leaning into her hand like a cat seeking warmth. “But it’s true.”
Ruan Mei’s heart did an odd little flip, and she sighed, resigning herself to the chaos. “Sleep,” she said, her voice gentler now. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
He mumbled something incoherent, his head lolling onto her shoulder as his breathing slowed. She stiffened at first, unused to such closeness, but gradually relaxed, letting him stay. The apartment was quiet save for the rain and his soft snores, and as she sipped her cooling tea, Ruan Mei realized she didn’t mind the mess he’d brought into her night. Not really.
She’d never admit it, but as she tucked the blanket around him, her fingers lingering on his arm, she felt a hypothesis forming; one about warmth, trust, and the strange alchemy of caring for someone like Childe. She lets him sleep, and maybe, just maybe, she’d smile while he couldn’t see.
✦
The living room bore traces of last night’s chaos: a woolen blanket half-slipped off the couch, an empty Qiongji wine bottle on the low table beside a glass of untouched water, and a faint whiff of spiced tea mingling with the orchids’ floral scent. Ruan Mei’s neatly arranged research journals were slightly crooked, a silent testament to Childe’s drunken flailing.
Ruan Mei stood in the kitchenette. She was brewing a fresh pot of tea, her movements precise as she measured out leaves, but her teal eyes kept flicking to the couch where Childe lay sprawled. He hadn’t moved much since she’d extricated herself from his inebriated cuddling an hour ago, his auburn hair an untidy halo against the cushions, one arm slung over his face to block the light.
She sighed, her breath stirring the steam rising from the kettle. Last night had been a trial, Childe’s slurred compliments, his invitation to “waltz” with her, his infuriatingly endearing confession about thinking of her “all the time.” Ruan Mei had only invited him to talk about one of her favorite hobbies, but instead, she ended up doing what people would call 'babysitting'; the person she housed was not a baby, not even close.
A low groan from the couch interrupted her thoughts. Childe stirred, his arm sliding down to reveal bleary eyes squinting against the light. “Ugh,” he mumbled, voice rough as he rubbed his temples. "Wait, where am I?”
Ruan Mei didn’t look up, focusing on pouring tea into two cups with deliberate calm. “My temporary residence on the Xianzhou Luofu,” she said, her tone clipped but not unkind. “You drank an entire bottle of Qiongji wine last night. Congratulations on surviving. Most people's health would be in danger from that much alcohol in their system.”
Childe blinked, processing her words as he sat up slowly, the blanket pooling around his waist. His gaze landed on her, and a sheepish grin crept across his face despite the obvious headache. “Mei… you’re a sight for sore eyes. Did I, uh, behave myself?”
She arched a brow, carrying the cups over and setting one in front of him with a pointed thud. “You tried to sing to my plants, spilled wine on your shirt, and insisted we dance. So, no, you did not.” She sat cross-legged on the rug across from him, cradling her own cup, her expression a mix of suppressed amusement. “Drink it. It’s jasmine tea. It’ll help.”
He took the cup, his fingers brushing hers briefly, and though he winced at the movement, his grin widened. “You took care of me, huh? Knew you had a soft spot for me.”
“I had no choice,” she retorted, sipping her tea to hide the warmth creeping into her cheeks. “You were a liability. I couldn’t exactly leave you to terrorize the citizens.”
Childe chuckled, then winced again, clutching his head. “Fair. But… I didn’t do anything too embarrassing, right?” His eyes searched hers, a flicker of genuine worry beneath the teasing.
Ruan Mei considered lying to spare his ego, or to tease him, but opted for honesty, her voice softening. “You were… yourself. Loud, chaotic, and oddly sincere.” She paused, her gaze flicking to the orchids as if they held the rest of her thoughts. “You said you think about me. A lot.”
His face froze, the grin faltering into something closer to panic. “I said that? Out loud?” He set the cup down, running a hand through his hair, which only made it messier. “Okay, that’s… not ideal. I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t plan to—uh—spill my guts like that.”
She tilted her head, studying him like a specimen under a microscope. His flustered state was new, disarming, a far cry from the cocky man who’d barged into her life with smirks and challenges. “It wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve said,” she admitted, her voice quiet but deliberate. “Though I’d prefer you sober next time.”
Childe’s eyes widened, then softened, a slow smile spreading as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Next time? So you’re not kicking me out for being a drunken idiot?”
“Not yet,” she said, her lips twitching upward despite herself. “But you’re on thin ice. Eat something before I change my mind.” She nudged a plate that had some pink pastries on it toward him, leftovers from her “culinary experiments”, and he grabbed one eagerly, popping it into his mouth.
She rolled her eyes but reached over with a napkin, dabbing at the crumbs with the same reluctant care she’d shown last night. “You’re a mess,” she muttered, but her touch was gentle, and when his hand caught hers, she didn’t pull away immediately.
“Thanks, Mei,” he said, his voice quieter now, the teasing replaced by something rawer. “For… y’know, not tossing me out. And for the tea. And for putting up with me.”
Her heart did that annoying flutter again, and she withdrew her hand, folding her arms to regain control. “You're welcome,” she said, but her smile betrayed her, small and unguarded. “I’m only being nice because you’re pitiful right now.”
He laughed, the sound bright despite his hangover, and leaned back, sipping his tea. “I’ll take pity if it means I get to see you like this. It’s cute.”
“Cute,” she echoed, her tone dry but her cheeks pink. “Finish your tea before I synthesize a muzzle for humans.”
They settled into a comfortable quiet, the morning unfolding around them. Childe ate another bite of her pastries, occasionally tossing her a playful glance, while Ruan Mei sipped her tea, her tablet forgotten on the table. The orchids seemed to approve, their petals catching the sunlight. Childe rambled about making her a “proper breakfast” to make up for his antics. Ruan Mei found herself thinking less about experiments and more about how he, here, hungover and earnest, felt like a hypothesis worth exploring.
“Maybe I’ll let you try,” she said at last, cutting off his story about a mythical fish stew. “But no wine. Ever.”
The couch still bore a crumpled blanket. The air now carried a faint jasmine tea scent, mingling with the promise of something new: breakfast, if they could manage it without disaster.
She stood at the kitchenette counter; her teal eyes narrowed at a holographic recipe for Xianzhou-style stuffed glutinous dumplings. She examined the recipe very intently. Her composure was intact, but a lingering exasperation simmered; she’d survived playing nursemaid to a drunken Childe, only to agree to this morning’s chaos: cooking together. A “thank you” for her patience, he’d claimed, though she suspected he just wanted to test her limits.
Across the counter, Childe bounced on his heels, his hangover dulled by tea and sheer stubborn enthusiasm. His auburn hair was still a mess; his shirt sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms dusted with faint scars, a warrior’s hands, now tasked with cracking eggs. His grin was far too bright for someone who’d called her orchids “sassy” twelve hours ago.
“Alright, Mei, let’s make some magic,” he said, grabbing a spatula like it was a sword. “Dumplings for breakfast, with my personal twist, think hearty, cheesy filling. You’re gonna love it.”
Ruan Mei’s lips pursed, her scientist’s instincts bristling at his casual disregard for the recipe. “The recipe calls for lotus paste and red bean,” she said, her voice cool but edged with warning. “Not… whatever you’re imagining. Cheese doesn’t belong in glutinous dumplings.”
He gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. “No cheese? That’s a crime! C’mon, live a little, mix it up.” He reached for a block of imported cheese, ignoring her pointed glare, and started grating it into a bowl with exaggerated flair.
She sighed, setting down her measuring spoon with a clink. “This is why I don’t enjoy cooking with you,” she muttered, though her tone lacked real venom. Last night’s ordeal, mopping wine off the floor, dodging his clumsy hugs, had tested her patience, but his sheepish gratitude this morning had chipped away at her defenses. Besides, the way he’d looked at her over tea, earnest and soft, made it hard to say no. Not that she’d admit it.
“Relax, genius,” Childe said, nudging her shoulder as he dumped a questionable amount of cheese into the bowl. “Cooking’s like fighting, instinct overrules. You handle the dough; I’ll handle the flavor.”
She shot him a look that could’ve frozen anyone, but rolled up her sleeves further and started kneading the glutinous rice flour, her movements precise as a lab procedure. “Instinct,” she said dryly, “is why you’re banned from my experiments. Stick to the plan, or I’ll make you eat the lotus paste raw.”
He laughed, loud and bright, and leaned closer, his elbow brushing hers. “Threats already? I’m wounded.” He cracked an egg into another bowl, but his aim was off, and a bit of shell fell in. He froze, glancing at her like a kid caught sneaking sweets.
Ruan Mei’s eyes narrowed, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips, then reached over to fish out the shell with a deft flick of her fingers. Her hand lingered near his, the warmth of his skin a quiet distraction. “Pay attention. This isn’t a sparring match.”
“Maybe it should be,” he teased, bumping her hip lightly as he stirred the eggs. “Me versus you, the winner gets to pick the next meal. Bet I’d win.”
“You’d trip over your own ego,” she retorted, but her voice softened as she watched him, his messy focus, the way his grin never faltered despite her barbs. She turned back to the dough, shaping it into perfect rounds, though her thoughts wandered to last night’s mumbled confession. It was a variable she hadn’t solved yet, and this, cooking, bantering, existing in his orbit, wasn’t helping her clarity.
The kitchenette descended into controlled chaos. Childe, predictably, ignored measurements, tossing in spices, paprika, of all things, which Ruan Mei vetoed with a swift swipe of her hand. She retaliated by adding a pinch of lotus paste to his cheesy filling, smirking at his horrified gasp. Flour dusted the counter, a splash of egg yolk stained Childe’s shirt, and at one point, he flicked a bit of dough at her, earning a glare and a precise counterattack that landed squarely on his nose.
“Truce!” he laughed, holding up flour-dusted hands as she aimed another pinch. “You’re ruthless, Mei. I’m in love.”
Her cheeks flared, and she turned away, focusing on stuffing the dumplings with more force than necessary. “Focus,” she said, her voice clipped, but her heart stuttered at his casual words. He didn’t push, just grinned and helped her fold the dumplings, his larger hands sloppy but committed next to her meticulous ones.
When they finally steamed the dumplings, the apartment filled with a warm, savory aroma of part tradition, part Childe’s bizarre improvisation. They sat on the rug, the plate between them, the morning light casting soft shadows. Childe took a bite first, his eyes lighting up despite the odd mix of cheese and lotus paste.
“Not bad,” he said, offering her one with a flourish. “We’re a good team.”
Ruan Mei nibbled hers, her expression thoughtful. “Tolerable,” she conceded, but her smile betrayed her, small and warm. “Though next time, you’re following my recipe.”
He laughed, stealing another dumpling, and as they bickered over the last one, the kitchen mess forgotten, Ruan Mei realized she didn’t mind the chaos, not when it came with him.
Childe shifted and sprawled beside her, one arm propped behind his head, his rumpled shirt and messy auburn hair a testament to their culinary battle. His smirk was softer now, sated by food and the quiet that followed their banter.
“Can't believe we made that,” Childe said, breaking the comfortable silence. He nudged the empty plate with his foot, his voice warm with satisfaction. “Told you my cheese idea would work.”
Ruan Mei’s lips twitched, a faint smirk betraying her amusement. “It was… surprisingly edible,” she said, her tone dry but lacking its usual edge. “Though I’m still convinced cheese in dumplings is a culinary felony. Don’t expect me to endorse it.”
He laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, rolling onto his side to face her. “You ate three, Mei. That’s endorsement enough.” His eyes sparkled, catching the sunlight, and he reached out to flick a crumb from the corner of her mouth, his touch lingering just a second too long.
Her breath hitched, and she swatted his hand away, her cheeks warming under his gaze. “You’re still a mess,” she muttered, brushing her fingers against her lips as if to erase the sensation. But she didn’t move away, her shoulder brushing his as they sat close, the blanket from last night draped loosely over their legs like an unspoken truce.
Childe’s grin softened, his usual swagger giving way to something quieter, more vulnerable. “Yeah, but you’re still here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Guess I didn’t scare you off with my… uh, stellar performance last night.”
She tilted her head, studying him with the same intensity she’d give one of her lab experiments. His sincerity was charming, something she hadn’t accounted for when they first met.
“You were a disaster,” she said, her voice softer now, almost fond. “But… not an irredeemable one.”
He sat up, closing the small gap between them, his knee bumping hers under the blanket. “High praise from the great Ruan Mei,” he teased, but his gaze was steady, searching. “You know, I meant what I said last night. Sober or not, you’re kinda stuck in my head.”
Her heart skipped, and for a moment, she considered retreating to analyze his words like data, safe behind a scientist’s logic. But the warmth of the rug, the lingering of dumplings on her tongue, the way his voice softened when he said her name, it anchored her here, in this messy, human moment.
“Don’t get cocky,” she said, but her smile betrayed her, small and incautious. She leaned forward, surprising herself, and rested her forehead against his shoulder, just for a second, a fleeting gesture that felt like a hypothesis tested. “You’re still on probation.”
Childe froze, then let out a quiet laugh, his arm sliding around her shoulders, careful but warm. “Probation’s fine,” he murmured, his breath stirring her hair. “Long as I get more mornings like this.”
She didn’t pull away, letting the weight of his arm settle, her scientist’s heart cataloging the sensation: steady pulse, shared heat, the faint cedar scent of him under the flour and tea. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the station and the orchids’ silent approval, their petals catching the light like tiny stars.
✦
Ruan Mei stood at the sink; she now radiated a familiar exasperation. Cooking with Childe had been chaotic enough; cleaning up, she suspected, would test her patience further.
Childe lounged against the counter, his grin blinding. He’d promised to help clean the kitchen as “penance” for his drunken serenades and kitchen disasters, but Ruan Mei wasn’t holding her breath for diligence.
“Alright, Mei, let’s make this quick,” Childe said, grabbing a sponge with the enthusiasm of a kid handed a toy sword. “You wash, I’ll dry. Or, hear me out, I use the sprayer faucet to blast this mess away.” He reached for it, spinning it around as his eyes gleamed with mischief.
Ruan Mei shot him a look, her hands already submerged in soapy water as she scrubbed a bowl. “If you break that, you’re sleeping in the corridor,” she said, her voice dry but laced with amusement. “This is a kitchen, not a battlefield. Start with the flour on the counter.”
He laughed, saluting her with the sponge. “Yes, ma’am.” He swiped at the flour, sending a puff into the air that made him sneeze, and Ruan Mei’s lips twitched despite herself.
“You’re making it worse,” she said, rinsing a chopstick with surgical precision. “Use a damp cloth, not a dry sponge. Basic chemistry, flour clumps with moisture.”
“Basic chemistry,” he mimicked, grabbing a cloth with a grin. “You’re charming when you lecture, you know that?” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he wiped the counter, and though she nudged him away with her elbow, the contact sent a quiet spark through her chest.
She focused on the dishes, her scientist’s mind cataloging the task: soap to break down grease, water to rinse, and a towel to dry, but Childe’s presence was something she couldn’t ignore. He was a mess, but he was beginning to be her mess, and that thought was more endearing than she’d admit.
Childe, predictably, turned cleaning into a game. He flicked soap bubbles at her when she wasn’t looking, earning a glare and a retaliatory splash that left a wet spot on his shirt. “Truce!” he yelped, holding up a dripping plate, but his grin was unrepentant. He dried it with exaggerated care, stacking it neatly to appease her, then snuck a glance at her focused expression.
“You’re staring,” Ruan Mei said without turning, her voice calm but tinged with a smile as she scrubbed the steamer.
“Caught me,” he admitted, leaning against the sink, his cloth dangling. “Just thinking, this stuff is kind of therapeutic and fun. Although seeing you in with soap bubbles and all… domestic. It makes me wanna stick around.”
Her hands paused, soap suds dripping into the sink, and she glanced at him, her teal eyes narrowing. “You’re on thin ice after last night,” she said, but her tone was softer, almost playful. “And you’re not done drying. Focus.”
He chuckled, resuming his task, but his movements slowed, his gaze lingering. “Y’know,” he said, quieter now, the teasing replaced by sincerity. "This cooking, cleaning, and just being here, it’s nice. Feels right.”
Ruan Mei’s heart skipped a beat. She turned to face him, her wet hands gripping a bowl as if it were an anchor. Childe's honesty was a curveball, shattering the carefully constructed world of calm she's built for herself. Her inner thoughts want her to deflect and return to rational thoughts, but the warmth in his eyes and the fact that he was standing so close to her that she could feel his body heat radiating rendered her immobile.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, but her voice betrayed her true feelings, gentle and unguarded. She reached out, almost without thinking, and wiped a smear of flour from his cheek with her thumb, her touch lingering. “You’re still so clumsy.”
He slowly broke into a radiant smile. Childe gently took her wrist, his fingers warm against her skin, "But this clumsiness is what you've gotten yourself into," he murmured, his voice low enough to stir the air between them. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a little bit attracted to me."
Her cheeks flushed, and she pulled her hand back, flicking water at him to break the moment. “I like a clean kitchen,” she retorted, but her smile was undeniable, brightening the room more than the sunlight. “Finish the plates, or I’m banning you from breakfast.”
He laughed, returning to his task with a mock salute, and they fell into a rhythm, her washing, him drying, their elbows brushing in the cramped space. Soap bubbles floated, catching the light like tiny lanterns, and the counter gradually sparkled, order restored through their chaotic teamwork. When the last dish was stacked, Childe slung the cloth over his shoulder, turning to her with a triumphant expression.
“Look at that,” he said, gesturing to the gleaming kitchenette. “We’re unstoppable. Ready for round two, dessert this time?”
Ruan Mei leaned against the counter and met his gaze with a playful challenge. “Only if you add no weird additives,” she said, her voice warm with a promise of more mornings like this.
His laugh was a vow, and as he stepped closer, offering a pinky swear she reluctantly accepted, Ruan Mei felt her scientist’s heart catalog a new truth: some messes, especially with Childe, were worth keeping.
✦
Aurum Alley buzzed with evening energy, its lantern-lit streets alive with the hum of vendors hawking skewers, the clink of jade teacups, and the laughter of passersby. Tucked into a quieter corner, an eatery glowed like a jewel box, its open-air patio framed by cascading vines and holographic fireflies that danced in the artificial dusk. The tables were low, cushioned with silk, and the air carried the sugary scent of desserts mingling with the faint tang of tea.
Ruan Mei sat at a corner table, her posture poised but relaxed, her eyes scanning a holographic menu with the scrutiny of a scientist dissecting a formula. She wore a flowing, floral-embroidered dress, more formal than her lab attire but still comfy, her hair pinned loosely, a few strands catching the lantern light. Last night felt distant here, but the warmth of this morning’s dumpling-making lingered, softening her usual reserve. She hadn’t planned to meet Childe again so soon, but his invitation to “taste the Luofu’s best sweets” had been too intriguing to refuse.
Across from her, Childe lounged with his usual ease; his maroon undershirt was swapped for a sleek jacket that hugged his frame. His hair was tamed, barely, and his grin was brighter than the eatery’s lanterns. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying her with a mix of mischief and something else, like he was still marveling at her agreeing to this outing.
“You’re overthinking the menu,” Childe teased, tapping the holographic display to highlight a dessert. “Go with the peach mochi parfait, sweet, fluffy, and there’s boba tea to match. Trust me, I’ve got a nose for good eats.”
Ruan Mei’s lips pursed, her gaze flicking to him with mild skepticism. “You also thought cheese belonged in glutinous dumplings,” she said, her voice dry but laced with amusement. “Forgive me if I question your palate.”
He clutched his chest, mock-wounded, but his laugh was warm, drawing a few curious glances from nearby diners. “Ouch, Mei. That was a bold experiment, and you ate it, so who’s the real winner?” He leaned closer, his blue eyes glinting. “C’mon, pick something, or I’m ordering for us both.”
She sighed, a small smile betraying her, and selected the parfait with a tap, adding two glasses of immortal’s delight boba tea, lychee-flavored, her choice, despite his sulk for something “spicier.” The order materialized swiftly, a perk of the ship's tech, and soon the table held a delicate parfait layered with peach mochi, whipped cream, and glistening fruit, flanked by two tall glasses of milk tea studded with dark boba pearls.
Childe grabbed a spoon, diving into the parfait with the enthusiasm of a kid, scooping a generous bite topped with a mochi cube. “Here, try it,” he said, holding the spoon toward her, his grin daring her to refuse. “First bite’s on me.”
Ruan Mei raised a brow, her scientist’s instinct wary of his theatrics, but the gesture, truly earnest beneath the tease, melted her resistance. She leaned forward, accepting the bite, her lips brushing the spoon as the sweet peach and creamy mochi bloomed on her tongue. It was… delightful, though she’d never admit how right he was.
“Truly dopamine-response inducing,” she said, her tone measured as she licked a trace of cream from her lip, catching his stare. “But I could’ve taken my own bite.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Childe countered, taking a bite himself, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sharing’s half the flavor. Like this morning, you had fun making those dumplings.”
Her cheeks warmed, memories of flour fights and his clumsy dough-folding flashing through her mind. “I did… it was a nice experience,” she said, picking up her own spoon to scoop a precise portion, though her smile flickered. “Despite your disregard for measurements.”
He laughed, sipping his boba tea, the straw making a soft slurp that earned another of her looks. “Nice's your code for ‘best morning ever,’” he teased, then paused, his voice softening. “Seriously, though, these three days spent together… you’re kinda stuck with me, Mei. Hope you’re okay with that.”
Her spoon stilled, and she met his gaze, his sincerity cutting through the eatery’s hum like a perfectly aimed arrow. The memory of his drunken words echoed, now mirrored in his sober eyes, and her heart did that infuriating flutter she couldn’t quantify, and that has been happening frequently.
“I haven’t decided,” she said at last, her voice soft but playful, stirring her tea to hide her smile.
Childe groaned, but his grin was radiant, and he reached across the table, stealing a boba pearl from her glass with his spoon. “Harsh, but I’ll earn my keep,” he said, popping it into his mouth. “Starting with more of this, next round’s on me.”
She swatted his hand lightly, a rare laugh escaping as she retaliated by scooping a bit of his parfait. “Thief,” she accused, but her eyes sparkled, and when their spoons clinked in the shared dessert, it felt like a silent pact.
The eatery buzzed around them, lanterns swaying, fireflies flickering, but their corner was a world apart. Ruan Mei caught herself leaning closer, her shoulder brushing his as she savored a sip of tea, and when Childe offered another bite, his fingers grazing hers, she didn’t pull away.