Work Text:
The proclamation was absurd.
Ridiculous.
And yet, it drew half the city into the old courtyard like moths to flame.
A key hangs from my cat’s neck. Whoever takes it will have my hand in marriage.
So said the wanted sorcerer. So said Childe, infamous shapeshifter, trickster, criminal—or hero, depending who was telling the story.
The courtyard echoed with shouting. Nobles and mercenaries lunged. Nets flew, spells snapped, even a few blades gleamed in the twilight. And at the center of it all, perched smugly on the cracked lip of a fountain, sat a cat.
Sleek auburn fur gleamed in the torchlight, eyes sharp as sea-glass. Around its neck, a ribbon of red silk caught the light, and dangling from it, a golden key swayed like bait on a hook.
Every hunter lunged. Every hand grasped. And every time, the cat slipped away—vanishing between legs, vaulting onto rooftops, leaving claw marks across knuckles bold enough to grab.
Laughter carried on the wind, though no one knew from where.
Because no one suspected.
The cat wasn’t guarding Childe.
The cat was Childe.
---
At the courtyard’s edge, Zhongli watched. Cane in hand, amber eyes steady, he didn’t chase, didn’t shout, didn’t even prepare to strike. He simply observed, as though all the chaos were a performance staged for his benefit.
The cat landed lightly before him, tail flicking, ribbon fluttering against its chest. Its sea-glass eyes narrowed, studying him.
Zhongli inclined his head, calm as stone. “You enjoy toying with them.”
The cat’s ears flicked back.
Instead of lunging, Zhongli lowered himself onto the fountain’s edge. From his sleeve, he drew a small pouch and opened it. The faint scent of dried fish drifted into the night air.
The cat froze. Its nose twitched. Slowly, suspiciously, it crept closer.
“I will not seize you,” Zhongli said, voice low and even, like the slow trickle of a mountain spring. “If companionship is what you seek, I can offer that.”
The mob raged behind them, still chasing shadows. Zhongli stayed still. The cat nosed closer, then brushed against his knee, curling into the warmth of his lap with a low, rumbling purr.
The key dangled close enough to take.
Zhongli did not touch it. He only smoothed a hand along the cat’s back, slow and steady.
“You need not surrender anything,” he murmured. “Not your freedom. Not your hand. Only your trust.”
The crowd dwindled. Curses faded. At last, silence fell. Only Zhongli and the cat remained.
The air shimmered.
Fur rippled into skin. Limbs lengthened, bones shifting with the smoothness of water. And suddenly Zhongli was no longer holding a cat but staring into the grin of a man with auburn hair, a ribbon still looped around his throat.
Childe.
His grin flashed sharper than it should—teeth just a little too pointed, as though some hint of the feline lingered. “Everyone else clawed and scrabbled at me. But you… fed me fish.”
He tugged the ribbon loose, dangling the key from one finger, lips curled in a smirk that revealed those catlike fangs. “Guess that means you win, old man.”
Zhongli didn’t flinch. His gaze rested on the sharp smile, the glint of teeth. “It was never a contest.”
Childe’s grin faltered into something unreadable. For just a beat. Then it returned, sly as ever. He dangled the key closer, teasing. “Marriage was a joke, you know. A trick. Unless—” He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, “—you’d take me up on it?”
For once, Zhongli reached—not for the key, but for Childe’s hand. He closed their fingers together, the golden key caught between their palms.
“I already have,” Zhongli said simply.
Childe blinked. Then he laughed, sharp and bright, leaning forward until their foreheads almost touched.
“Careful, old man,” he whispered, grin curling at the edges. “You’ll make me believe you mean that.”
Zhongli’s hand tightened around his. “I do.”
And for once, Childe didn’t run.
--- Epilogue
The next morning dawned quieter than the night before.
The city buzzed with gossip about the failed challenge, hunters grumbling about claw marks and lost wagers. But in a modest inn tucked at the edge of the district, the world felt far away.
Childe sprawled across the bed like he owned it, hair mussed, still wearing the ribbon loose around his neck. The golden key gleamed on the nightstand where Zhongli had set it, as though it were nothing more than a trinket.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Childe drawled, stretching lazily. His grin was crooked, half-mocking, half-soft. “Everyone else tried to outsmart me, outfight me. And you just… fed me fish.”
Zhongli poured tea with the same calm precision as if they were already years into this strange arrangement. “Because it was never about the key.”
Childe rolled onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “You really mean that, don’t you? No trick, no ulterior motive—just you being… you.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or lean closer.
Zhongli set a cup on the nightstand within his reach. “Trust is not a game to me.”
For a long moment, Childe studied him. Then he chuckled, low and amused. “You’re infuriating, you know that? Who takes in a wanted sorcerer with a price on his head and decides he’s a… companion?”
Zhongli finally looked at him, steady as ever. “Perhaps someone who understands the loneliness of masks.”
The words slipped between them like a thread binding two edges.
Childe went quiet, lips parting before he laughed it off, shaking his head. “You sound like you’ve been waiting your whole life to say something that dramatic.” But when he took the tea, his fingers brushed Zhongli’s and lingered.
Minutes passed like hours. The ribbon around his throat slipped a little further, red silk catching sunlight, and Childe tipped his head back against the pillows with a sigh.
“Alright,” he muttered, softer this time, “I’ll stay. Just… don’t expect me to behave.”
Zhongli’s lips curved faintly, almost a smile. “I would not ask that of you.”
Childe snorted, burying his grin in the steam rising from the cup. “Dangerous words, old man. You might regret them.”
And then, just to prove his point, he reached over and flicked the golden key off the nightstand with one careless hand. It clattered to the floor.
Zhongli arched a brow. “…Was that necessary?”
Childe stretched out in the blankets, smug as a cat in a sunbeam. “Absolutely.”
The faintest sigh escaped Zhongli, but when he bent to retrieve the key, there was no true annoyance in it. He set it back on the table.
The second his hand withdrew, Childe flicked it off again.
“Childe,” Zhongli said, calm but edged.
“What?” His grin was wicked, his tone all innocence. “It’s in my nature.” He curled into the blankets like he had no bones at all, tail-like laziness in every movement, eyes slitting in amusement as he peeked at Zhongli’s expression.
Zhongli straightened the key one last time and left it there. He didn’t rise to the bait.
Childe watched him, waiting. Waiting.
When no reaction came, his grin faltered into something softer. He huffed out a laugh, burrowed deeper into the sheets, and mumbled, “You’re impossible.”
Zhongli’s voice was warm, unshaken. “And yet you’ve chosen to stay.”
Childe peeked up at him from the folds of the blanket, smirk curling back at the edges. “Guess I have.”
And for once, he didn’t vanish.
---