"Are you going to get up? It's mid-morning."

While Zhongli doesn't need to sleep, he's found that he rather enjoys it. Lazing about until the later morning, swathed in sheets that smell like his love, toasty and warm—these things are a rare indulgence that he's inclined to blame on retirement.

Childe might enjoy rising with the sun. He may take a morning jog and sip coffee while watching a sunrise of pinks and oranges, but Zhongli would prefer to doze right through it, even if the mattress is woefully bereft.

"No," he finally says, burying his face into Childe's pillow. Smells like ocean salt and citrus. A tinge of Electro. The tiniest bitterness of lingering Abyss. Ajax. Zhongli could drown in it and be a better man.

The bed dips slightly under Childe's weight as he sits on the edge. He peels back the blankets, laughing gently. "Are you aware that you're all…" He gestures to the haziness of Zhongli's form, the blackened edges of his skin, where his antlers are caught in the pillowcase.

"Yes."

"An old lizard of few words, today," teases Childe.

Zhongli shifts, turning his face to look at Childe properly. "Let this old lizard sleep in. I wish to bask in the sheets."

Childe is quiet for a moment, just watching him. Zhongli knows that he glitters gold in the sunlight that filters in through the window. Childe loves these bits of him, the less human parts that occasionally peek out. "Lazy," he murmurs, chuckling as he reaches out to brush back Zhongli's bangs.

"I do think that I am allowed to be."

"Yeah," agrees Childe. "Six thousand years with few days off—I think you're allowed to be lazy for the rest of your life."

"And yet, you're complaining."

"I only asked if you're going to get up, and then I told you what time it is."

Zhongli grunts softly. Childe has him there.

"You're quick to tease me but get annoyed when I do it back." Childe leans close, hanging over Zhongli who's still trapped in the covers. "Did I tell you that I made some tea?"

"Oh, wonderful," Zhongli deadpans. "Expertly crafted brew by your skilled hands."

Childe sniffs. "If you must know, I used that recipe card that you wrote out. I even tested the temperature of the water!"

At that, Zhongli sits up and leans against the headboard. "Such due diligence… one must wonder what I did to deserve such a thing."

"If you take the time to worry about it, the tea will get cold. Then it'll really taste terrible."

Zhongli laughs at that, deep in timbre and warmth. He allows Childe to part the covers and pull him from the bed. His tail flops to the floor, twitching to his embarrassment, but Childe just drags his knuckles down the length affectionately before tugging at his hands.

The tea smells like oolong. Not burnt. Delightfully floral. Zhongli thinks that maybe, this time, Childe may have brewed something decent.

And then he takes a sip, fingers curled around the tiny porcelain cup.

"I know that look," says Childe with a pout. Oh, how Zhongli wants to kiss it right off his face.

"It's—"

"Terrible."

"Mediocre." Zhongli drains the rest of the cup and holds it out for more. "A worthy effort, at least. Better than your previous attempts. I would like a second cup."

Childe pours him a fresh round with a rueful gaze. "You always want a second cup."

"Of course, especially when crafted by your hands. Even if over-steeped, it was still brewed with love. And that I will always cherish."

Childe's face turns pink. "I—Gods, you just." He drops into the seat beside Zhongli and busies himself with pouring his own cup.

Adorable and handsome. Childe's mouth is twisted to the side in embarrassment, which he tries to hide behind his palm as he drinks. Zhongli's chest is warm as he watches. How lucky he is to witness this every single day.

Their tea is shared quietly. They sit on the porch of their teapot, and though it may not be in the bedsheets, it is still deliciously lazy, a wonderful start to Zhongli's day. He doesn't know what is on the docket. Perhaps he'll read or clean up around the house. Childe will go off to work and they'll meet at Wanmin to share their usual dinner at Childe's cost.

"Ajax." Childe looks up mid-sip. Zhongli reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist, tugging it to his mouth. "Baobei. Thank you."

"I… For what? I just…" He gestures to the tea. "I do this all the time."

"I know. And I love you more with every instance." He kisses Childe's knuckles. Nuzzles the calloused skin there from temple to chin, marking him with his scent, an age-old instinct that rages through his being. Not that he needs to, it's just that Childe fed him, so—

"Why don't we just stay in today? Katya will give me a day off."

"You're her boss," is Zhongli's dry reply.

"And you know that she runs the show."

True. He kisses Childe's knuckles one last time before letting them go. "I will admit… a lazy day in sounds wonderful. What would we do?"

Childe leans on his elbow. He takes Zhongli's hand into his and presses his fingers into the spaces of Zhongli's own. "How about nothing? You always plan everything to a tee. I think it'd be nice to just let the day take us as it goes."

How romantic. Zhongli looks at where their fingers are linked and sighs softly.

"Bad idea?"

"No, a perfect one. But first—" Zhongli pulls Childe forward by his shirt and kisses him.

Childe jerks, surprised, and then chuckles against his mouth, cupping Zhongli's face and tracing the dragon scales that dot his hairline. "More lost than usual, hm?"

"The things you do to me," muses Zhongli. "Not that I am complaining. It is nice to not have to hold back. To be so comfortable that…" He trails off. "It doesn't matter. What does is a fresh pot of tea."

"Oh, so it was that terrible."

"I do think I called it mediocre. You should take that as a compliment, Ajax. Besides, wouldn't you like some hands-on training? The last time was rather enjoyable if I recall." For a variety of reasons, most of them being lingering fingers and lots of kisses. They wound up forgetting the tea entirely, making out against the counter instead.

Childe's throat bobs as he swallows. "What's on the menu, then?"

"Your sister sent a wonderful blend the last time she wrote to me. I thought perhaps we could…"

Zhongli trails off, recounting water temperatures and brew times and what kinds of pots are proper for a Snezhnayan black tea.

And if they hold hands the entire time, fingers pressed into those empty spaces to cling tight, thumbs rubbing over rough, calloused palms, tracing those life lines…

Well, it's not as if anyone else will know.