Remember Me at Summer's End [ZhongChi/TartaLi]

Chapter 2 - No Rest for the Wicked (And No Groceries, Either)

14th Day, 8th Month

Bouncing along to the rhythm of a popular Snezhnayan tune, Childe drums on his desk with a pen in each hand, humming along with the odd, fractured word slipping out under his breath. A pile of completed paperwork sits stacked beside him, and his eyes flicker between the clock fixed on the opposite wall and the photo of himself and Zhongli that sits on his desk, set in a pure gold frame. From the centre of the photo, his own face smiles back at him, his head perched on one of Zhongli's shoulders while his hand is clamped around the other.

It had been one of those fresh, bracing mornings where the air seems to be made of glass — crystal clear yet crisp and fragile — and they were taking a stroll around the waterfront. A photographer had set his kamera up and was taking shots of the harbour. Zhongli stared at a merchant's stall, his attention fixed on a spread of jewellery laid out on velvet casing.

Sensing an opportunity, Childe caught the photographer's eye and the photographer nodded back. As the kamera flashed, he wrapped himself around Zhongli, envisaging a shot with Zhongli's brow furrowed in thought, sporting that little crease between his eyes which forms whenever he appraises an object of interest.

Instead, the photo sitting upon Childe's desk contains a different image. Zhongli's head is half-turned toward Childe, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly parted. One hand is raised toward Childe's head and the Zhongli's eyes crinkle at the corner as his lips draw upward. It's candid and beautiful, and his expression holds a kind of warm affection that Childe never dreamt he might one day see directed at himself.

Childe chuckles at the memory, lifting a finger to softly boop Picture-Zhongli's nose.

Zhongli is perfect.

The clock chimes on the opposite wall.

12pm.

Perfect.

Zhongli's work at the funeral parlour will be over in half an hour. If Childe leaves now, he can pick up some ingredients for dinner and make it home at about the same time as Zhongli. He's been meaning to cook for them before his leave in Liyue ends, but their time has been spent on lavish dinners at Liuli Pavilion, or on relaxed evenings at Third-Round Knockout, leaving few opportunities for home dining.

They have nothing planned today, so Zhongli will sample a little taste of Snezhnaya, sans the squid, of course.

He gives the pile of completed paperwork a final, satisfied shuffle. Ekaterina will be pleased with his assistance; even if he's on leave, there's no reason he can't help out a little here and there. Besides, it helps to pass the time. While he'd love to get a few practice fights in before lunch, the few times he walked in trailing blood down the hallway, Zhongli pulled that face similar to the one he makes whenever he's served a plate of seafood, his nose concertinaing into a ball of dissatisfaction.

Although highly entertaining, irritating Zhongli isn't Childe's goal today.

He slides his chair back and bounces to his feet, grabbing his keys from his desk and tucking them in his pocket. He walks to the door, but as he pulls on the handle, it flies open, propelled by an outside force. He stumbles back, pressing a hand against the wall for balance as a horrified gasp comes from the other side of the door.

"Master Childe? I'm awfully sorry!" says Ekaterina, poking her head around the corner. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, no harm done, Katya." Childe pulls himself upright with a reassuring smile. "Little bit of excitement never hurt anyone, myself least of all."