Work Text:
“Wow,” Paimon says, dragging the word out long and slow as Lumine leads her through the winding streets of Chihu Rock. “Can you believe it’s already almost June?” She says it with such odd emphasis.
Almost like she’s expecting something.
Anticipating something.
“Huh.” Lumine wipes her brow. “That explains why it’s so hot.” She’s soaked through with sweat, the afternoon sun relentless, the humidity from the ocean oppressive. She loves Liyue, but part of her would rather be in temperate Fontaine or Mondstadt in the summer months.
Paimon flits around Lumine’s head. “Paimon thinks June is the best month of the whole year,” Paimon says. “It’s not too hot—”
“Not too hot?” Lumine asks in disbelief.
“—and not too cold. It’s just right.” She swings to a stop directly in front of Lumine’s face, setting her little fists on her hips. “Don’t you think?”
Lumine squints at her.
She’s definitely expecting something.
“Sure,” Lumine says.
Paimon squints back. “June,” she continues, “is the perfect time for celebrations.”
Does Teyvat have any June holidays?
“And for gift-giving,” Paimon says.
“Yeah,” Lumine says. “Of course. Gift-giving.”
Paimon beams. “Oh, Paimon knew you’d remember! No matter how mean you are to Paimon—” Lumine grimaces, because, yeah, she can be kind of mean. “—you wouldn’t forget Paimon’s birthday!” And Paimon zips off, leaving Lumine in the middle of the street in Chihu Rock, suddenly sweating for a much different reason.
Because she absolutely, definitely, and entirely forgot about Paimon’s birthday.
There are only two things in all of Teyvat that Paimon wants: mora and food. Mora is out of the question—Lumine doesn’t have any—and food… well. Given the mora situation, Lumine can’t buy Paimon an all-she-can-eat buffet at Xinyue Kiosk or Liuli Pavilion. But they do have enough funds for Lumine to scrounge up some ingredients, and Xiangling takes pity on her and agrees to let her cook in the back of the restaurant before it opens.
The trouble is that Lumine isn’t a particularly good chef.
She sits on the front step of Wanmin Restaurant, her face in her hands, groaning. She’s sent Paimon off on the very important mission of finding out what very important missions the Adventurer’s Guild has for them, but time is of the essence, and this is the second batch of cookies Lumine has ruined.
A shadow falls over her.
“Hey, girlie.”
Lumine drags her hands down her face and peers up at Childe, certain his presence is a curse.
He grins back at her, all rakish good looks, and not for the first time, she wonders what it would be like to sink her hands into his messy hair and kiss him senseless.
“I’m not in the mood,” she tells him.
His grin falters. “You’re always in the mood for a fight.”
Verbal or otherwise, yeah, that’s true, but not today.
“I have maybe two more hours to figure out how to bake cookies for Paimon’s birthday, which is tomorrow, and I’ve ruined every batch so far.” She gestures to the smoke still pouring out of Wanmin.
Xiangling might kill her, but Lumine thinks that’s a good thing. She won’t have to endure Paimon’s disappointment if she’s dead.
Childe tucks his hands into his pockets, leaning back. “Cookies, huh?” He nods to the smoking building. “How do you manage when you’re on the road?”
She scowls.
He laughs, and she isn’t sure if she wants to punch him or kiss him. Both, maybe. Both seems reasonable.
“Do you want help?” he asks as his laughter subsides and he wipes at the corner of one eye.
“No,” she says immediately.
He lifts both brows. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
He begins to turn on one heel, moving at a glacial pace. To give her time to change her mind. Joke’s on him: she won’t.
But the scent of burned chocolate singes her nose, and she groans. If she wants to give something nice to Paimon, she… needs help. She hates it, but it’s true.
“…wait.”
Childe spins back around, leaning toward her with a broad smile.
“You’re saying you’re good at cooking?” she asks him warily.
“And baking.” His grin grows wider. “Big family. You learn these things. I’m happy to help.”
“Don’t you have things to do? Debts to collect?” she asks, not entirely willing to admit she needs help.
He shrugs. “Nothing that can’t wait a day or two.”
Sighing, Lumine rocks to her feet. She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, toward Wanmin’s interior. “If you’re lying to me, I’ll beat you up.”
Again, Childe laughs. “Girlie, if you’re offering me a fight, I will absolutely ruin the next batch of cookies.”
With a roll of her eyes, she stalks into the restaurant. Childe trails after her. Her skin prickles; having him at her back is unnerving. No matter how much she might want to kiss him (a lot), no matter how often she imagines kissing him (most nights), he’s still her enemy. Doesn’t matter that he’s sweet to his younger brother. Doesn’t matter that, more and more, she suspects the Tsaritsa might have the right of things. Her methodology isn’t great, but her purpose? Lumine’s not too sure the Fatui are her enemies anymore. And she keeps ending up working with the Harbingers instead of against them.
Shaking her head, she guides Childe into the kitchen.
He whistles. “Did you set a mitachurl lose in here?” he asks.
She surveys the countertops, covered in flour and sugar. One of the baking sheets has been twisted beyond recognition (she hopes Xiangling won’t be too upset—she’ll replace it when she has the mora, of course). The shattered remains of a glass bowl occupies the very end of the counter (how was she supposed to know that glass cooking bowls were so fragile?).
“It’s not that bad,” she protests.
Childe snorts, and that’s more damning than anything he could say. He reaches for an apron and throws it over his head, tying it around his waist with an easy comfort. “Alright, well. Let’s start by cleaning up this mess.”
She groans but gets started, hauling a bin over to the edge of the counter. She wipes the mix of flour and sugar into the bin as Childe washes the bowls and spoons that survived Lumine’s considerable strength. Once everything is cleaned, washed, and dried, Childe pulls her over to all her ingredients.
“What are we working with?” he asks.
She points out the common ingredients that Xiangling said she could use. “And then, chocolate,” she says, indicating the brick she’d purchased on the docks for pretty much all the mora she had left. At the time, she thought it was too much chocolate. Now, two ruined batches of cookies later, it seems like hardly enough.
“Cookies should be simple enough,” he says.
She glares at him.
He lifts both hands. “Not a critique of your skill, I promise.”
“Sure.” She crosses her arms. “Well, then, chef. Teach me how to make chocolate cookies.”
He hands her a ceramic bowl. “We start by creaming the sugar. Do you have measuring cups?”
She cants her head to the side. “Measuring cups?”
“I’m beginning to understand why this didn’t work out for you. Were you just eyeballing measurements?” She nods. “You can’t do that when you’re baking unless you’re very good at it.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Why not? It’s the same as cooking.”
“Ma says cooking is an art but baking is science. The ratios of ingredients are important.” He roots through the cabinets in Xiangling’s kitchen, eventually pulling out a collection of cups and spoons of various sizes. These, he presses into Lumine’s hands.
His touch lingers.
Heat spreads through her, emanating from the tips of his gloved fingers brushing over her skin, and she suppresses a shiver.
“You want three-fourths of a cup of butter,” he says, measuring the butter out in one of the cups before passing it to her. “And then the two sugars.”
“Two?” she asks, startled.
“Lumine, were you even using a recipe?”
She bristles. “I know how to make cookies!”
He looks over her shoulder at the trash bin where she’d thrown her first attempt (rock solid) and then back at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Whatever,” she mutters, emptying the butter into her bowl. They measure out the white and brown sugar separately—who knew that you had to pack the brown sugar? Lumine sure didn’t.
He passes her a wooden spoon. “Gently,” he admonishes, slipping behind her. She stiffens, but he merely wraps one hand over the one of hers cradling the bowl and captures the wrist of the other. “Like this. You want to get some air into the mixture.”
He’s warm at her back, his breath soft against her cheek. He smells good, too, like leather and a fresh sea breeze. More heat rushes through her as she focuses all her attention on the bowl in her arms and works to combine the sugar and butter.
“Now the eggs,” he says, reaching around her. He cracks the egg in one hand, somehow managing not to shatter the shell into the sugar or get anything on his gloves.
She sucks in a sharp breath but refuses to comment on the skill.
She got egg all over the counter and her hands twice.
The second egg he cracks in half. Over the sink, he trades the yellow bit between the two halves of the egg until all the clear stuff is gone, and then he dumps the remaining yellow bit into the sugar. Once more, he takes her hands in his, guiding her as she mixes the eggs into the sugar.
She does everything in her power not to think about his chest against her back, not to think about the heat of him sinking into her.
“Grab the teaspoon,” he says, his voice low in her ear. “And the bottle of vanilla.”
“That’s expensive,” she protests. “Xiangling—”
“Will understand.”
“I don’t want to make vanilla cookies, though. I want to make chocolate cookies.”
“Still needs a dash of vanilla. Trust me.”
Does she trust him? He did try to kill her that one time in the Golden House, but they haven’t been at odds since. He trusted her with his little brother. With his Vision in Fontaine. Surely she can trust him with something simple like this. It’s not like he gains anything by helping her make disgusting cookies—except a laugh. But Childe, despite his name, isn’t all that childish. Not in that way.
She pours two teaspoons of vanilla into the sugar mixture. They combine that, too, and when Childe pulls away to grab another bowl, she’s bereft and cold.
Rude of him to withdraw.
But then he’s back, trading her one bowl for the other. He shows her how to measure out the dry ingredients, and they whisk these together before adding them to the wet ingredients.
Childe handles chopping the chocolate, and Lumine watches him with wide eyes and a rapidly increasing heartbeat. She’s not worried about him coming at her with that knife—she’s beaten him enough times in enough fights to be comfortable with her own victory. It’s just. It’s the way he uses the knife, the way his motions are fluid and easy, the obvious skill behind every gesture.
His blade is a blur, but he has perfect control, and when he’s done, he flips the knife in the air and catches it—without looking at it.
She’s always been impressed by people with skill.
Lumine’s heart hammers in her chest.
“That should be good. Not too coarse, not too fine.” He pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth and grins at her. “And you got the right kind.”
There’s a bit of chocolate smeared on his lip. “The right kind?” Lumine asks, staring at that chocolate and not, she assures herself, at his mouth.
“Archons, Lumine, how did you think you were going to bake cookies for Paimon if you have no idea what you’re doing?” he asks, eyes sparkling with amusement.
She shrugs. “I’ve muddled through everything else well enough. Um. You have—” She reaches toward his face. He goes perfectly still, watching her. Her thumb presses against his lip.
Warm.
Plush.
What would he do if she pushed her thumb into his mouth?
Heat coils through her belly, and her toes curl in her boots.
His lips part and something wet presses against her gloved thumb. His tongue.
Desire sparks in her veins, fizzing like champagne.
His fingers wring her wrist. Gently, he pulls her hand away as he steps closer to her, into her. His head cants to the side. “Did you get it?” he asks.
Her eyes fix on his. “Maybe,” she replies, breathless.
They linger just like that, each waiting for the other. Tension weights the air, makes it heavy and harder to breathe. Every inhalation shivers through Lumine’s body, trembling and—and needy. She wants to kiss him. He’s so handsome, and she keeps imagining it, and now he’s all but offering himself—
He turns away, clearing his throat. “Let’s mix in the chunks.” He nods toward the oven. “Fire still going in there?”
Flustered, Lumine ducks her head. Stares at the oven as heat radiates from it. “Um. Yeah.” She catches a lock of hair and tucks it behind her ear, peeking at him from beneath her lashes.
A flush stains his pale cheeks, but there’s a small, pleased smile toying at the corners of his lips.
“Let me show you how to roll out the cookies,” he says, beckoning her over.
She joins him at the counter, and he shifts behind her, fitting their bodies together as he strips off his gloves. Lumine utters a soft, hungry sound, sinking against him as he scoops a bit of dough into her hands and helps her roll it into a small ball. They work slowly like that, his hands bracketing hers, his body curved around hers, his lips against her ear.
“See,” he murmurs. “You’re good at this.”
The praise warms her. “You’re a good teacher,” she admits.
He rumbles contentedly against her ear. “Thanks.”
They make quick work of the dough, and Childe shows her how to position the baking sheet in the oven so that the heat is just right. He insists on cleaning up as the cookies bake. Lumine tries to help, but she can’t stop casting a nervous eye toward the oven, terrified that she’ll glance back and find the cookies burnt to a crisp.
But she needn’t worry. They come out perfect little lumps. Childe offers her one after they’ve had a chance to cool, and she bites into a cookie that is soft and sweet, with no cloying vanilla flavor, and she beams up at him.
“They’re delicious!”
His eyes fix on her mouth. “Yeah,” he says absently, distracted. “You’ve got—” His finger curls under her chin, tilting her head up, and he bends toward her. Hesitates briefly, glancing at her. She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even breathe.
His tongue touches her lip as he licks up a bit of chocolate, and Lumine can’t stop the breathy moan that spills out of her. Gently, he presses his mouth to hers. Her eyes flutter shut. She drops the cookie onto the counter, forgotten, as she wraps her arms around his neck. His lips are sweet, much sweeter than the cookie, and she fits herself against the line of his body as they taste each other in slow sips.
The reality of him is so much better than her fantasies. Warm, strong. Their kisses, each growing hungrier than the last, taste like chocolate chip cookies. Addicting. He’s addicting. She’s already addicted to him, and they’ve barely touched.
He steps into her body, and she moves until her back hits the counter. Caging her there, he bites at her lips, each little nip sending a jolt of heat through her. His tongue pulls across her lips, soothing the sting, and he sinks his hands into her hair. Cradles her face in his hands.
With a soft moan, Lumine arches against him. The hard line of his cock presses against her belly, and she moans again, louder this time.
They shouldn’t be doing this in Xiangling’s kitchen, but she can’t stop herself, can’t think long enough to slow them down.
Doesn’t want to slow down.
She’s craved Childe’s kisses for more than a year, has wanted to know his taste, the feel of his hands on her body, and now she has both.
And she could have more.
Her fingers curl around his wrists and she drags his hands down her body, over her breasts (he gasps against her lips and arches hard into her), and down to her hips. Releasing him, she braces her hands on his chest. He takes her meaning quickly and helps her hop onto the countertop.
Without hesitation, he pushes between her legs, and she slings them around his waist, drawing him close. His cock presses against her cunt through her bloomers and panties, and the heat is wicked, it’s sweet, it makes her body coil with needy tension. Wetness gathered between her legs, slick and warm, and she keens softly.
Childe breaks the kiss first, but only to turn his lips to the line of her jaw. “How much do you want?” he asks.
Arching her neck, Lumine rocks herself against him with a broken, hungry little moan. She should tell him she wants nothing, that they shouldn’t be doing this. They’re in a kitchen. They’re in someone else’s kitchen, but she’s so hungry for him, has been so hungry for him. In some ways, a kitchen is the perfect place for this. Because she wants—
“Everything,” Lumine replies, raking her nails down the fabric covering his back.
The sound Childe makes is feral, is wicked. He pushes deeper into the crook of her neck before dragging his teeth over her skin, and Lumine bites back a cry of pleasure.
She has the kitchen for another hour, but Xiangling might come by. Someone might peek in. They shouldn’t be doing this, they might get caught, but that just adds to the thrill.
Childe’s hands sweep over Lumine’s thighs, pushing beneath the fabric of her skirt to flirt with the edge of her bloomers. “Everything,” he murmurs into the hollow of her throat as he noses beneath her scarf.
His fingers slide along the outside of her thighs as he shifts, pressing against her, spreading her legs wider. One hand curves around her thigh, trailing tingling heat as his knuckles brush up her skin and over the fabric of her bloomers.
Lumine gasps, grasping at Childe’s clothing as he reaches between her legs and runs his knuckles along her cunt. Even through the fabric, the touch makes her burn, and she moans softly, turning her face to seek out his lips for another kiss.
Her tongue slips into his mouth as his fingers dip beneath her bloomers. They stroke down the soft fabric of her panties, already wet with her desire as she licks into him, as she tastes him—like a sweet sea breeze—and the chocolate—bitter and decadent.
Their tongues tangle, their breaths growing hot and heavy as his fingers play between her legs. He strokes her until her hips dance on the counter, her back bowing. She can’t move enough to arch into him, can’t roll her hips to trick his fingers into touching her where she wants, and that just makes her hotter, wetter. She aches for him, and a reedy sound catches in her throat.
His fingers push beneath her panties. His thumb rubs against her clit, and she moans into his mouth. Two fingers pull down her cunt, and she keens. Pleasure surges through her, and she tightens her legs around his hips to pull him closer as he pets her, plays with her.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs against her mouth.
Lumine’s cheeks flame with heat, embarrassment and desire combined. “Don’t—” His thumb drags along her clit and she arches against him with a gasping moan. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He laughs, the sound a low and wicked rumble that settles in her belly and makes her ache, makes her cunt clench around nothing. “Then who are you thinking of?” he asks, licking at her lips.
A shudder runs through her, and she tugs him closer. “More,” she demands in lieu of answering his question. “I want—”
One of his fingers slips inside her, and she cries out.
Her head falls back, and Childe licks and nibbles down the column of her throat. He presses suckling kisses against her skin until she’s keening senselessly, until she’s wriggling on the counter in a desperate attempt to get him to move.
One finger feels good, but just sitting inside her, with her unable to move, it’s not enough.
His finger curls, pressing against her slick muscles, and his thumb brushes over her clit. Pleasure burns through her. Lumine cries out again, only for Childe to silence her with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, demanding she meet him, that she fight back, and she does, pushing his tongue back into his own mouth, tasting him once more, devouring him as his finger presses and releases, a rhythmic pull inside her that has her breath catching in her chest.
She whimpers into their kiss, the pleasure building as he plays, as her toes curl, as her legs wrap even tighter around him. And when that pleasure finally crests and breaks, she sags against him with an aching moan, one he swallows with his hungry kisses.
Trembling, she comes undone for him, her cunt clenching around his finger as he continues to stroke it against her sensitive inner walls. He plays with her, coaxing more pleasure out of her body, making her gasp against his mouth, making her shake and burn.
As the heat gives way to sweet warmth, Childe pulls his finger from her body, lifts it to his lips, and licks.
Lumine’s eyes go wide.
Childe moans. “You taste good, Lumine.” His mouth finds hers for lingering kisses as he drops his hands to her thighs and tugs. “Lean back. Spread your legs for me.”
She does, pressing her hot hands against the cool surface of the counter as he drops to his knees.
Her eyes widen even more. “Childe, you—you can’t,” she gasps. “That’s too—”
He looks up at her, those dull eyes glittering as he scoots her to the edge of the counter. “I can,” he says, kissing the inside of one thigh and then the other. He hooks one finger in her bloomers and panties, pulling them to the side, revealing her wet and pink flesh, and he groans.
Her lips part on a gasp. “Childe, you—”
But his mouth is already on her, hot and slick and exquisite. Lumine cries out softly, head falling back, back arching, body shaking. His tongue pulls along her cunt, circling her entrance before flicking over her clit. He suckles gently, just enough pressure to have her keening his name as she buries one hand in his hair to hold him close.
Not that he seems interested in going anywhere. No, he pulls one of her thighs over his shoulder as he devours her with his mouth.
Wet heat drags over her cunt. Hungry noises pour from his lips as he consumes her, as his tongue fucks into her, as he seals his lips around her clit and suckles delicately. He overwhelms her with his wicked tongue and the heat of his mouth, drowning her in pleasure until she can’t think past it, can’t do anything but feel. Her hips work against his mouth as much as they can, arching and twisting in small, abbreviated motions as she encourages him to place his mouth where she wants it most—and he obliges her every time, giving her what she wordlessly begs for.
Her head falls back as her toes curl, as her heel digs into his shoulder. Though her eyes are half-open, she sees nothing, focuses on nothing but the growing burn of pleasure between her legs as he laves her with his tongue.
Distantly, she hears rustling fabric. Then, a long groan against her wet skin.
Rolling her head forward, Lumine looks down. Heat spears her through at the sight of Childe’s hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it as he looks up at her through thick lashes.
Her cunt squeezes down, her entire body shaking with the force of her want.
“Inside me,” she gasps, needing the feel of him carving into her more than she needs the orgasm his mouth and tongue promise.
He shakes his head, thrusting his tongue deep into her cunt.
A low moan falls from her lips, and her fingers clench in his hair, tugging.
More, she needs more, and his mouth isn’t giving her the more she wants. But instead of rising and sliding into her, Childe strokes a hand up her leg. As his tongue flicks over her clit, tracing strange symbols against her flesh, he eases two fingers into her.
All the breath comes out of her in a cry of pleasure. Her back bows, her cunt rippling and squeezing around those two fingers as Childe curls them inside her. He knows exactly how to touch her, exactly where to touch her, to turn burning pleasure into a storm of it that sweeps over her and leaves her gasping and breathless as she comes for him again.
This time, he doesn’t coax pleasure out of her through her orgasm. This time, he surges up the length of her body, catching her lips in a wet, messy kiss that tastes of her arousal as he presses his cock against her entrance.
“Lumine,” he groans into their kiss.
With one leg still caught over his shoulder, she wraps the other around his hips and tugs him closer, forcing the tip of his cock into her. “Fuck me,” she demands, biting at his lips.
He obliges her, sliding deep into her with a single thrust.
Lumine presses against him, sealing their mouths together to muffle the aching cry that spills from her lips. His hips press into hers, his cock a hot brand deep inside her, filling her, stretching her. It’s been so long since she last had someone that she forgot how delicious it feels when a cock spreads her wide, stretching her to her limits. And he does. Gods, he does, he fills her so well, his cock rubbing against tender and sensitive nerves, leaving her alight with her pleasure.
Her fingers grab at his shoulder, his hip, tugging him closer, deeper into her.
As before, he obliges. Planting his hands on her hips, he drags her onto his body as he thrusts deep.
Their harsh breaths fill the kitchen, pouring from their lips between hungry, devouring kisses. His cock fills her, carves through her, the decadent stretch stealing what little breath remains in her lungs and transforming it into more gasping moans.
They move together, every stroke of his cock sending pleasure spiraling through her. She’s flying, she’s drowning, she’s so steeped in pleasure that she can’t think past it, can’t think of anything except the need to get and give more of it.
“Childe,” she gasps against his mouth.
“Ajax,” he replies, catching her lower lip in his teeth. He nips hard enough to sting, but that’s just enough layer of sensation, another dollop of pleasure on top of the rest. He licks away the sting, and she moans softly. “My name—it’s Ajax.”
“Ajax,” she keens, and he shudders beneath her hands. His thrusts turn harder, deeper, reaching inside her to drag over a spot that has her gasping and seeing stars.
With a broken moan, she presses her face into the crook of his neck, all but folding herself in half. She squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to him as she moves, focused only on chasing the high his body promises her. More, more, more, she craves more, craves him, needs him.
“Lumine.” His lips brush against her ear, and his fingers slip between them. His thumb brushes over her clit once, twice.
Her hips jerk into his, and she has to fight to keep their rhythm. “Again,” she begs, reduced to pleading.
He doesn’t tease her, doesn’t make her work for what she wants. His thumb pulls over her clit again, rubbing in circles that match time with his thrusts, and that’s enough, that’s what she needs.
Her orgasm crashes over her, and she comes with an aching, broken cry of his name, muffled against his neck. Her cunt ripples and squeezes, clinging to his cock, and he groans long and low.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he gasps. The fingers on her hips bite into her skin, clutching at her as his own pace turns ragged. “Close. I’m—”
“Inside me,” she demands, squeezing him tighter.
That’s enough to undo him.
He comes with a groan, thrusting deep into her welcoming body, his own trembling with the force of his orgasm.
They stay like that for a long time, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths panting. Childe smooths his hand over Lumine’s thigh and down her leg, turning his face to press a kiss against the curve of her ankle through the leather of her boot. Gently, he eases her leg off his shoulder. Pulls away from her.
A shiver runs through her as his cock slips out of her—and another pulls down her spine as his eyes drop to her cunt.
“Fuck,” he says. “The way I want to lick you clean.”
Residual heat and pleasure have her cunt squeezing down again. “We—We probably don’t have time for that.” She’s breathless, the words punctuated by her own labored breathing.
A slow grin pulls across his face, utterly devastating. “We don’t have time now.”
Her heart hammers in her chest, the beat made uneven by the extent of her delighted excitement. “Is that an invitation, Ajax?”
He seizes her mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands curved around her jaw, cradling it as his tongue sinks deep into her mouth. “Tell me when,” he says against her lips.
“Tomorrow night? After I celebrate with Paimon?” She grimaces. “The day after tomorrow. I can’t leave her for—” Her cheeks flame.
He grins. “I get it.” His thumb pulls across her lips. “The night after tomorrow. I’ve got a room at Baiju Guesthouse.”
“I’ll be there.”
He lingers before drawing back, and they finish cleaning up Xiangling’s kitchen. They wrap up the cookies, and Childe insists on buying a nice box to store them in—and he’s just in time. No sooner has Lumine closed the lid on the cookies than Paimon comes screaming up to them, effervescent as always.
She’s suspicious of the box, and rightfully so. She pesters Lumine about it all the rest of the day, and Lumine, who means to give Paimon the cookies later in the day on her birthday, finally caves and gives her the gift just before lunch with an exuberant, “Happy birthday!”
Of course, Paimon does not share the cookies, but Lumine doesn’t mind.