Chapter Text
Zhongli is definitely a man of scientific and cultural value. If the people around him discuss a certain topic, whether it be cuisine or history, he is most likely to join in the conversation and inform people of the little details they usually either forget or don't know about-- for example, an argument that appeared to be a storm approaching the sea, slowly but surely; between the astrologist Mona and his friend, Ningguang, was simply settled by fact checking: "Actually, Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise," he had said at that time.
And if people are quick to contradict him, he simply hums in response and enjoys the conversation-- "Please, feel free to elaborate. It is pleasing to listen to different opinions." It is not everyday that he has the occasion to develop multiple subjects that the school he attends does not touch up on. Because of this, he considers his job as a barista to be remarkably enjoyable.
So, yeah Zhongli is a man of rationality. Absolutely.
Although his rationality isn't always the winning counterpart. More so than often, he finds himself gazing at customers-- a customer, to be specific. He doesn't exactly know why. Maybe it's because his face is pleasing to the eyes. Or because it is simply fascinating to focus on something else other than coffee-- which is not his forte, either, as he prefers tea. (But he makes sure to memorise the sticky notes on top of the coffee machines.) The regularity of his routine ensured that he would be seated on the side of the shop, next to the windows, his attention on the textbooks in front of him. In all honesty, Zhongli had probably first been drawn by the determined look on the other man's face as he sorted papers and scribbled furiously in a notebook. Most days he had his earbuds in and he was still as a statue, his gaze glued to the screen of his laptop.
So today, as Zhongli serves a customer their order, he can hear the entrance bells ring shortly. A quick glance at the time and yes, he is right. Two p.m., no more, no less.
"And this is why I'm telling you, you need to stop arguing with me and work on the damn project instead," Zhongli's main attraction says as he slowly walks forward, books under one arm, phone in the other hand.
Zhongli smiles in response at the customer that is currently before him as they wave goodbye, and as he turns around towards the pantry, he hears a soft knock on the counter. Oh.
"Just a simple coffee, normal, and milk, please," the red-headed customer almost whispers, a hand over the phone. Zhongli nods in response, a small smile on his lips. At a second look, the object of his attention seems to be unpleasantly arguing about… sperm whales, and their ability to breathe underwater as he goes to his seat.
Which, for a fact, is not true.
"No. Listen. I'm not going to argue with you about sperm whales anymore," he says exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "They are mammals. I'm 90% sure you're doing this just to get on my nerves."
The brunet can hear that all the way from where he currently is, working to make the coffee. He can't help but let out a breathy chuckle escape his lips. He looks towards the pile of sticky notes piled up on the counter to his right.
"For the love of God…" he can hear, "... scary moose. I am not about to waste my time arguing with you and your inability to accept the fact that whales dive and not just simply swim in the water and breathe magically through whatever fuck mechanism they have."
At that, Zhongli straightens his back and proudly sticks the little piece of paper on the other's cup, clicking his pen with a satisfied little huff of breath. "Though their lengthy dive time might suggest that whales are able to breathe underwater, this is not true. Whales are mammals, and breathe air just like humans. Yet these cetaceans do possess incredible abilities to hold their breath for long periods. Sperm whales can complete some of the longest dives by mammals, sometimes lasting as much as 90 minutes,“ the sticky note read, and with that, he goes to place the order on the table, leaving just as swiftly with a small, courteous nod.
Ten minutes turn into thirty, then into fourty, and into hours. Zhongli shuffles back and forth, the floors sometimes creak beneath his feet as he rushes in and out of the pantry. As he serves fleeting customers, he can't help but wonder about the lack of response. Has he somehow upset his (possibly favorite) customer? Quick glances into his direction confirm the fact that he is still staring into his laptop, but the sticky note is nowhere to be found. Worryingly, in a moment of thoughtful self reflection, he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
Unbeknownst to him, the client, is gripping the sticky note with the mighty force of a thousand sperm whales. Childe made sure to stare into the voidness of the laptop as soon as the brunet would turn around and face the general area of the cafe. The essay stared back at him. Two paragraphs at most, and multiple angry notifications popping up on his phone.
Yet, he wondered. Why does he know this? How? How is this in any way, shape or form useful information for him? he asks himself, mindlessly clicking between the eight tabs he has open. And then, he stills. Are we, somehow, studying the same thing?
He straightens himself in his seat and takes another sip of coffee. Childe frequently visits this place. It's a quaint little coffee shop, conveniently placed at a ten minute walk distance from his university. And, to be honest, the atmosphere in the shop is a stark contrast to the one in his dorms. He simply cannot bring himself to concentrate on the work he has to do when he can hear multiple people either arguing, laughing, or plainly messing around. And frankly, he is sick of hearing Scaramouche talk his ear off to his left and Signora snickering morbidly to his right. For his own good, he decides to take his toys and play somewhere else-- and what is wrong with sneaking in innocent little glances at aesthetically pleasing faces? (That are nowhere to be seen around him when he is not here.) At least… that's how he excuses himself.
And he believes that there is nothing wrong with that.
Nothing wrong with taking your time to grow a pair and go talk to someone of interest.
And with the snarky remark, he can hear Signora's laughter, deep inside the back of his mind, nagging at the last remaining bit of patience he has for them.
He takes his phone into his hand and checks the messages.
[̲̅$̲̅The Harbingers$̲̅] - 6 new messages.
DoTheFandango, 3:43 p.m.
He's at that coffee shop again
Bet he's just staring and doing absolutely nothing
★ The Signora ★, 3:45 p.m.
And don't you have anything else better to do?
You two are so alike that I don't see the difference between which one of you is recyclable and which is not.
The lack of male genitalia in this group concerns me.
Dottore., 3:45 p.m.
Get a strap on and do the job, then.
With a heavy sigh, he locks his phone and sets it aside.
He looks up, and then back down at the note in his other hand. The neat, cursive writing is beautifully spread over the length of the paper and for a brief moment he wonders how the hell did he actually manage to fit so much information in so little space. He takes the pen from the textbook, turns the sticky note around and decides to write down his response. Quick to get up and after settling his belongings safely in his bag, he heads over to the counter-- where the barista is nowhere to be seen (how much has he been spacing out, anyways?) -- and left the cup on the wooden counter, the piece of paper innocently sticking out from under it.
"thanks for telling me, tho i already knew that. on a scale on 1 to 10 how funny would you rate listening to someone argue about sperm whales to be? why do you know this, though? are you a marine biology major?"