Seven Months in Heaven [Zhongchi/Tartali]

Chapter 4 - Memories of Dust

Tomorrow came and Childe did not go to the Chasm. In fact, Childe didn't go anywhere at all. Instead, he awoke on the sofa with his back as stiff as a plank, leaving him unable to shift his position without sending nerve-crushing spasms rippling throughout his body.

Stuck on the sofa, time dragged along, the low rising sun glaring through the open window. More than once he attempted to shift, but swiftly regretted it when his back complained with a sharp jolt.

There was no going to the bank today.

So there he stayed, wondering what he'd done to deserve such a fate, until Zhongli pottered into the room several hours later.

His eyes widened. "Childe? I thought that you were supposed to be working at the bank today?"

Childe eyed the culprit for his current condition.

"I thought you weren't supposed to throw walls in people's faces." He folded his arms, wincing as his back tweaked.

Zhongli moved to crouch by his side, eyes running over his him. "Ah, you fell. That would be my fault."

Opening his mouth, Childe was ready to berate Zhongli for his part in his tragic state, but the ready admission of guilt and Zhongli's concerned expression swiftly changed his course.

"Well, it was my bad, really, I guess. I'm the one supposed to be keeping out of trouble, right? Anyway, I'm just a bit bruised up, I'll be fine in a few days if I rest up."

"Have you informed your bank that you shall not be at work today?"

"What do you think? I can't exactly move here."

Zhongli sighed, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, looking Childe up and down. With a shake of his head, he said, "I will stay here for today. Please allow me to let Director Hu know that I shall not be attending my duties at the funeral parlour and I shall return as soon as I am able. I will also let your staff at the bank know that you will not be working today."

"You really don't need–" started Childe, but Zhongli was already in the hallway, pulling on his coat and shoes, deaf to all protests. With the soft click of the door, he was gone.

Childe let out a discontented hum; Zhongi had the nerve to call him stubborn once, but it was about time the old man took a look in the mirror himself.

Left with only the sound of the chirping birds and the muted hum of the crowd's chatter outside, Childe laid there, ruminating on the morning's proceedings.

Zhongli was taking the day off because Childe hadn't been able to control himself. It was hardly fair, but he supposed it was a good way to keep up appearances – Zhongli sacrificing his work to diligently care for a bedridden Childe, a spitting image of the perfect partner. Perhaps Zhongli could bring some paperwork home with him to work on so that his day wasn't a total loss.

Still, the blame rested on no-one but himself and his own rashness; it wouldn't do for Zhongli's entire day to be derailed because of some mere bruising from an incident that was, ultimately, Childe's fault.

The minutes on the clock ticked by. Childe was certain that time itself was slowing down to spite him, each tick of the seconds hand dragging longer and longer.

Eventually, after what felt like an archon's lifespan of lying in his spot on the sofa, counting the bumps and cracks in the ceiling, the front door opened and Zhongli stepped back inside. Instead of opening the door to the living room, Zhongli's footsteps continued down the hallway to the kitchen, followed by the rusting of what sounded like paper and the kettle boiling on the stove.

Shaking off the mild irritation of being left unacknowledged, Childe turned his attention back to the ceiling, ignoring the incessant throbbing in his lower back. Sure, he expected Zhongli to want to get straight on with his work, but it wouldn't hurt to say hello.