summary: You and Venti are old friends. He’s the only one who remembers anything from your past life.
notes: this was done for an anonymous commissioner, whom I’m very thankful to! 2.4k words, reincarnation/modern au, all fluff, though there’s a single mention of venti being hungover!
It’s raining.
It always seems to be raining whenever Venti approaches you; light drizzles that kiss your face or sheets of water that cause the nearby river to overflow. Wherever he goes, storms seem to follow.
As if on cue, a pair of cold hands wraps itself around your eyes, obscuring the rain-slicked pavement from view. The only thing you can hear is the gentle patter of rain on your umbrella.
“Guess who!” A cheery voice pipes up.
“Hm… is it Lisa?”
“Wrong! Guess again.”
“Then, Diluc.”
“Do you really think that guy would do something like this?”
You pretend to ponder, and the boy behind you blows in your ear. You can’t stop yourself from letting out a shriek.
“I know it’s you, Venti! You can stop now!”
Venti unwraps his hands from around your eyes, all the while cuddling close to you. He’s soaked; rain is getting everywhere on your uniform. You’re certain that he’s going to leave a wet, Venti-shaped splotch on your side. “I forgot my umbrella,” he says. “Can we share?”
You brush a piece of wet hair from his face. “You’re really irresponsible for a senior,” you chide. “Shouldn’t you be trying to set a good example?”
“Well, how can I help it, when I know my cute little junior will always take good care of me?” he teases back.
You sigh. You had a soft spot for Venti a mile wide, and he was never afraid to exploit it. “You’re going off to college soon! I can’t take care of you forever.”
“Yeah but that’s not for a while! Hey, can I stop by your classroom before class?”
“… Yes, you can.” It’s a good thing you keep a towel in your bag for moments like these.
—
There is nothing in the world more foolish than a god who falls in love with a mortal. Barbatos knows this better than anyone else; he still cannot bring himself to look into a mirror and see the friend he has lost.
And yet, he has fallen again. There is no happy ending for the divine that dares to mingle with the mundane. After all, you are no hero or warrior; there will be no ballads or epics written in your honor. You are just an ordinary human like any other, struggling to eke out a life in the aftermath of Decarbian’s fall. And yet, you, with your lovely laugh and simple dreams, are irresistible.
You’re by the stream today, a load of laundry piled in a basket by your side. He admires the way you work, the way you brush back your hair and water trickles down your arms.
He alights by your side. “Boo,” he says, and laughs as you almost drop your freshly washed sheets back into the water.
“Lord Barbatos!” you scold. “Don’t frighten me like that.”
He pouts. “I told you, when we’re alone, to just call me Barbatos.”
“But that’s–”
“Bar-ba-tos,” he says, enunciating every syllable.
“I’ll only call you that if you stop trying to scare me!”
“Bargaining with a god? You’re awfully brave.”
You smile, and a thousand flowers bloom in his heart.
—
Rain patters the cafe window, blurring the streetlamps outside, drowned out by the sound of soft lyre music playing on the speakers. An aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans and baking muffins fills the room. Venti is slouched across from you, his cheek pressed to his composition notebook, sheet paper and empty plates littering the table.
“I’m going to drop out of college,” he announces.
“It’s only your second year,” you say, without taking your eyes off your laptop.
“I’m seriously going to do it. I can’t get this song right.”
“Take a break,” you say. “You can’t force inspiration.”
Venti hums in acknowledgement. “This is a nice song they’re playing.”
You pause in your typing. The song is slow, sweet and melancholic. “It’s sad.”
“It’s an old love song, you know?”
“Really? It doesn’t sound like one. I wonder what the composer was thinking when they made it.”
Venti laughs. “I wrote this song, so I can answer any questions you have.”
You snort. “Sure. You wrote this centuries old song.”
Venti looks at you, and there is something ancient in his eyes, something that has seen the rise and fall of nations. For a second, you almost believe him. Then he smiles. “Of course I’m joking! Hey, do you want some more coffee?”
“Are you going to pay for it?” you ask.
“Aw, you don’t want to pick up the tab for your old fiend?”
You give him a hard stare and he holds his hands up. “I was joking again! I’ll pay for it.”
You watch Venti order at the counter, smiling impishly at the cashier. The song in the cafe sounds familiar, but you’re certain you’ve never heard it before.
—
Barbatos fears watching you grow older. It is just another sign that you can never truly be his. He is destined to outlive you, to watch you die, to spend eternity with only your ghost as company.
Perhaps that is why he cannot bring himself to sleep in your presence; if he is awake, he can count every heartbeat and watch every slow breath you take, and reassure himself you are real.
“Barbatos,” you say sleepily, suddenly. “What are you doing?”
Barbatos presses his face into your neck; he didn’t mean to wake you. The two of you are curled together in your bed, and your room is silvered with moonlight.
“Nothing,” he lies. “Go back to sleep.”
You frown, shift up. You have always been so perceptive of his emotions. “I won’t, not until you tell me what’s wrong. I might not be able to help you with all your problems, but I don’t want you to deal with everything alone.”
He sighs. “It’s just… don’t you think I’m too old for you?”
“Huh?”
“You’re mortal. I’m going to outlive you. And it’s…”
“It’s lonely?” you guess. “Barbatos, come here.”
You wrap your arms around him, pull him back down onto the bed. He is so close to you, he can feel your breath on his face. You intertwine your fingers with his, bring his hand up to brush chaste kisses across the back of his knuckles.
“I’m yours, okay? I will always be yours, and I’ll always love you. I’ll chase you across every lifetime we have until you’re sick and tired of me, I promise.”
What a silly thing to say; he could never grow tired of you. You are a star. You blaze brightly as you burn, but the memory of your glow will always remain.
—
You and Venti, Venti and you. When asked about the nature of your relationship together, you have always responded that the two of you are “close.” After all, you love him, and that is enough. There is no need to define what sort of love it is for the understanding of others.
Becoming friends with him is effortless; falling for him, less so. Ever since you met Venti in high school, he has always been by your side, as if that’s where he belongs. It feels as if you’ve known him forever. Perhaps you have.
Venti’s hand slips into yours like a missing puzzle piece. He murmurs quiet jokes that are only meant for your ears. His laughter, his touch, his sudden moments of contemplation; you know every part of him like it is your own. If you close your eyes, you can trace the outline of his face from memory alone. The curve of his lips, the swell of his nose; all of it is familiar to you.
“You need to be careful,” Venti chastises you, bringing you out of your daze.
The two of you are sitting on his bed, your leg resting on his lap as he gently dabs at your skinned knee with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. You wince, and his movements slow.
It’s strange to have your roles reversed. So often it is that you are the one who has to take care of him, that you’ve forgotten Venti is older than you, if only by a year.
“Sorry,” you murmur.
“I’m not mad.” Venti sets down the cotton ball, and picks up a bandage covered in blue birds. “I’m just worried. If anything happens to you, I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”
“I know, I promise I’ll be more careful next time,” you say, apologetic. It had been raining that morning, and you had tripped and skidded down the wet stairs, Venti practically flying down the steps to reach you.
Venti smooths the bandage on your knee, before pinching your cheek. “Don’t worry. Next time you fall, I’ll just catch you in my arms.”
You laugh, and he leans in to kiss you, his lips tasting like mint.
—
The sky is a brilliant blue overhead when you run towards him, white shirt billowing behind you like a cloud. Instinctively, Barbatos’s arms fly open to catch you as your laughter echoes across the plains. In moments like these, it feels like the world belongs to the two of you alone.
“Guess what?” you say breathlessly.
“What?”
“I’m this year’s windblume star.”
Barbatos smiles, knocking his forehead against yours. “Oh? What flowers are you planning on offering me?”
“I can’t tell you,” you say. “You’ll just have to wait.”
“Please?”
“Well…” You lower your voice secretively, your lips brushing his ear as you lean in. “I’m planning on offering you a bunch of different flowers. One of each kind that I can find.”
“Oh? No one has done that before.”
“I figure the anemo archon deserves to have some variety in his life.”
“What if he wants you instead of some flowers, though?”
You smile. “I’m already his, silly.”
—
You putter around the kitchen, watching bacon sizzle in the pan as you quickly whisk yogurt, butter and milk together. Venti watches you from the couch, his head resting on his hands. His apartment is as familiar to you as your own is; you have your own toothbrush and shampoo in his bathroom, and you spotted your favorite jacket, the one you swore you lost, slung over the back of Venti’s desk chair.
“You shouldn’t drink so much,” you say sternly.
“I know, I know.” He waves a feeble hand in the air, as if he could physically swat away your reprimands. “I’ll be careful next time.”
“You always say that,” you say. “What if I just leave you at the bar next time?”
“Being surrounded by all that alcohol sounds like a dream come true.”
You roll your eyes as you mix your dry ingredients with the wet. Venti’s pantries are almost empty; he always forgets to go grocery shopping. Maybe you should drag him out to buy some later tonight.
You’re so engrossed in your cooking you don’t even notice that Venti has left his spot on the couch until he slips his arms around you, resting his head against your back. He’s humming a song you don’t recognize.
“What are you making?”
“Blueberry pancakes,” you reply.
He reaches out a sly hand to steal some of the batter, but you quickly hold the bowl out of his reach. Defeated, Venti returns to simply holding you.
You really do love mornings like these the most.
—
Barbatos strums the strings of his lyre aimlessly, letting loose a sigh so loud you turn your head to look at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck,” he grumbles. “I don’t know how to continue this song.” He plucks a discordant note.
“Take a break from it,” you suggest.
“But I want to finish it soon.” He looks at you. There are wrinkles around your eyes now, and if he searches, he can find strands of white hair. You can no longer keep up with him like you used to. In the streets, people mistake him as your son.
“You can’t force creativity,” you remind him.
He reaches out a hand to touch your cheek.
“I just want to finish this song. It has to be perfect.”
“I’ll love anything you play, Barbatos.”
He laughs. “And I love you.”
This song has to be perfect, because this song is for you. You are his, and he is yours, and even when you’re gone, he will never stop searching until he finds you again. If there is no greater folly than a mortal and a god falling in love, then he will gladly play the part of a fool.
—
Venti woke up before you today, something that happened so rarely you were certain he had something planned.
“I’m not planning anything,” he insists, even as he slides over a batch of burnt eggs and bacon to you. He had made breakfast, another rare occurrence, considering he was much more likely to order takeout.
“Really?” you say, as you grab a forkful of eggs.
“Absolutely not! Anyways, you don’t have anything planned this afternoon, right?”
“Well, no…”
“Do you have a swimsuit?”
You give him a side eye. “I do. Do you want me to go get it?”
“Mhm! Though if you wanted to go swimsuit shopping, I wouldn’t have been opposed,” Venti muses.
It takes ten minutes for the two of you to pack some bags after breakfast and for Venti to grab your hand as he leads you to the subway. He doesn’t let go of your hand for the whole ride, rubbing absent-minded circles onto the back as he stares out the window.
The sky is clear when you emerge from the subway. The wind is gentle on your shoulders. There’s the smell of salt in the air. Seagulls fly overhead. In the distance, the horizon shimmers against the bright ocean. Venti has taken you to the beach.
“What’s all this?” you ask.
“Consider it an anniversary gift!”
“Anniversary?”
“You forgot?” Venti asks, pretending to pout. “It’s been eight years since we’ve met, so I wanted to do something special.”
“Really? In that case, I have something for you, too.” You dig around in your bag and pull out a key, dropping it into Venti’s expectant palms. “It’s the key to my apartment. You can come over anytime you like. And if you ever want to move in together, well, my bed is big enough for two people.”
His eyes shine. “That’s certainly something to discuss! But for now, shall we go and claim a spot on the sand?”
You take Venti’s hand, and the two of you run off into the endless blue of the sky.