Chapter Text
Venti walks back into Mondstadt exactly six weeks after he’d left it with as little fanfare as possible. There is something painfully ironic that he, bard and god, is trying to not have an audience for once, but it takes barely thirty seconds before Beatrice notices him and her jaw drops, so he thinks he’s at least partially justified in just teleporting the rest of the way to Angel’s Share.
He wouldn’t be here at all, but Zhongli had gotten persistent about it, and while he’s always willing to try, it’s impossible to out-stubborn the earth itself. So he was sent to get wine for the two of them in the world’s most unsubtle ploy to get him back into city walls and in public view, even if only for a couple of minutes.
At least the past couple of times that he’s gone back into Mondstadt, only a couple of people saw him. Forcing him to go into the city’s most popular tavern is just cruel, in Venti’s opinion, but if he’d stayed in Liyue for one second longer Zhongli might actually have thrown another mountain at him.
Still, when he pushes the door of the tavern open and all noise inside immediately cuts out, the mountain starts to sound not quite so awful after all.
José drops his lute, the strings letting out a discordant noise as it hits the ground, alerting everyone in the vicinity who hadn’t already been staring. Venti winces in sympathy for the instrument and pretends that he can’t feel everyone’s eyes on him.
To his credit, Diluc barely pauses at all, only the faintest slowing of movement from where he’s mopping down the counter of the bar before he immediately returns to normal. His face stays the same as always, somehow completely unfazed as Venti slips onto the barstool closest to the wall.
“What’ll it be?”
Does Diluc know how much Venti cherishes him? Not only for the wine, but for the fact that he may be one of the few Mondstadters who truly could not care less about anything. He’s had to deal with identity revelations and chaos from probably way too many people in his life. He’s desensitized now. Venti really does cherish that so much. He doesn’t even acknowledge the six-week disappearance ever happened.
“Uh,” he says, suddenly blanking. What exactly had Zhongli wanted? Osmanthus wine, knowing him, but that’s a Liyuen specialty, not Mondstadtien. And Venti has brought him dandelion wine a thousand times in the past, it would be boring to bring it back now.
Zhongli does like to try new things, though. Some days, Venti thinks he might’ve been well-suited to be god of Wisdom with his eidetic memory and his tendency to try to learn as much as possible.
“Do you have a bottle of anything new? Like, a new blend.”
For a moment, neither of them say anything as Diluc squints at him in confusion, and Venti is painfully aware of how much his voice is echoing in the silence of the tavern. He refuses to turn around and face the eyes that must be directed their way.
“Dawn Winery recently started working with a Natlan tavern to make a new dandelion-aphimead wine,” Diluc suggests slowly.
Venti considers it. He’s never heard of that before, though Natlan has always made rather strange – and strong – alcohols that he’s always enjoyed. Perfectly in time for the summer, too. He might visit Natlan next.
If Venti hasn’t heard of it, then Zhongli probably hasn’t tried it either, so it suits his purposes well enough. “Can I buy a bottle, then? To take back with me?”
Diluc visibly hesitates, and then he says, “Venti, you literally don’t have any money.”
Venti blinks. He – honestly, he hadn’t actually been expecting Diluc to mention it. The bartender had practically forgiven him of all his alcohol-related debts already ages ago, and even Charles had stopped bothering to charge him, even if all of Angel’s Share’s workers are very aware of his moraless status.
It’s a strange thing to bring up. Especially in front of the still-silent tavern. But Venti promised to bring back wine for Zhongli, even if the wine wasn’t really the purpose of this trip, so he leans forward and bats his eyes like it’s any other day and he’s trying to piss off Diluc and asks, “c’mon, please? It’s not even for me, it’s for a friend.” It’s only partially true, but that’s not important. Venti had already stolen wine from Dawn Winery’s cellars in order to share with Zhongli; surely Diluc will let it pass.
“And is your friend going to pay?”
Zhongli refuses to make any mora now that his Archon identity is presumed dead. Something about inflation and ruining the economy. He also won’t remember to pay for something as paltry as a bottle of wine, even if Venti bothers him about it incessantly, seeing as both of them have received far more than that as mere offerings for thousands of years.
Somehow, Diluc manages to read all of this on Venti’s face, and he rolls his eyes, leaning down to pull out the bottle and hold it out regardless. “At least I know you’ll appreciate the quality.”
“Aw, thank you Master Diluc!” The smile does not come as easy as usual, but he hopes that his gratitude, at least, can be heard. Zhongli will appreciate it. Venti will appreciate it.
Diluc makes a face. “So you’re leaving again?”
Venti winces, laughing awkwardly to avoid making eye contact with him, and says, “well, you know, I haven’t exactly finished my vacation yet!”
He doesn’t say it, but the words six weeks are written far too clearly on Diluc’s face. Venti pretends not to see.
He hasn’t left Mondstadt in five centuries, anyway, even if he was asleep for most of it. He feels like he ought to be entitled to a vacation. Even Zhongli retired, of all people.
“If you say so,” Diluc says finally, sounding as if the words pain him greatly. Venti winces again. “Have fun.”
His smile is a little more genuine, this time, when he thanks him, the bottle of wine held tightly in one hand.
The entire conversation had taken barely ten minutes. When he exits the building, still not looking at anyone, he lets the door click shut without leaving fully, and listens to the tavern explode with noise. Seconds later, Diluc’s voice rises above the din, shouting something about kicking out rowdy drunkards, and it quiets a little more, though the difference between when Venti was inside is like night and day.
He sighs. Zhongli will certainly be disappointed in him, but the mere idea of returning to Mondstadt to live in that painful silence for who knows how long – even Celestia itself could not make him do it.
Besides, the two of them have to try aphimead wine. The Geo god can’t force him back yet.
Kaeya squints, and then finishes the rest of his wine off like a shot. “They can’t seriously still be talking about it.”
It’s a testament to how exhausted Diluc must be with the entire situation that he doesn’t even bother scolding him for his unhealthy alcohol consumption. Then again, Kaeya only has to deal with the rabble on the nights he ends up at the tavern, which has become significantly rarer in the past six weeks.
Though he tried to avoid it at first, the nature of Diluc’s job makes it so that he has to return to Angel’s Share regularly. The amount of times he must have heard them talking about the same thing must be unbearable by now.
“It’s been several days,” Diluc says. “I’m this close to banning the next person who brings up Venti from the tavern.”
“You would lose all of your customers,” Kaeya points out, because even as the two of them speak, they can hear Pallad and Draff arguing over the semantics of Mondstadtien worship already, voices rising in volume as the bard’s name gets mentioned every other sentence.
“I’m starting to think it might be worth it,” Diluc says blankly.
“Honestly, I had thought things had started to calm down,” Kaeya hums, swiveling around on his seat to lean his back against the countertop. The better view of the bar lets him see as Pallad, either by drunken clumsiness or drunken anger, knocks a pint of ale over directly onto Draff. The man immediately shoots up from his seat, making as if to hit the adventurer in response, and Kaeya watches with no small amount of amusement as Cyrus whips around from his own conversation and physically pushes the two apart.
“Venti returning reignited everything,” Diluc grumbles. “I’m glad he felt like he could come back, even for just a second, but these people are seriously infuriating.”
“Yeah,” Kaeya says, voice falling quiet. He hadn’t been here when Venti had shown back up three days ago, gotten a bottle of aphimead wine from Diluc, and disappeared once more. On his vacation, apparently. Archon knows Kaeya wants one for himself.
He doesn’t know what his reaction would have been, had he seen Venti that night. He’d like to think he’s accepted it. Mostly. He wouldn’t get into bar fights days later over the subject, at least.
Diluc had reassured him multiple times, but Kaeya doesn’t know how to explain to him that it’s not quite that simple. It’s not just being afraid of Venti’s reaction, it’s Venti himself – or, rather, Barbatos himself.
Even now, the difference seems so unfathomably immense that he’s still having trouble reconciling the two in his head.
Does he need to? How is Kaeya supposed to go on from this – to speak to Venti as normally, as easily, as Diluc seems to do? He has far too much dignity to act as ridiculous or dramatic as the fools fighting beside him, but that does not give him any more knowledge on how he should act.
His musings are interrupted, however, by a loud crash coming from across the room. He shifts towards it instinctively, seeking out the source of the commotion, and finds a figure on the ground next to a couple of overturned chairs and the stains of spilled wine.
It appears that Cyrus accidentally threw Pallad. From next to Kaeya, Diluc lets out a groan so exasperated that he cringes in self-preservation.
“I’m going to close the tavern for good,” he says in half-dead monotone.
“Where are you going to get your riches from, then?”
“Doesn’t matter. Dawn Winery gets enough,” he mutters. “Probably could buy half the city with the winery’s earnings alone. Angel’s Share isn’t worth it.”
Kaeya whistles. “Wish I had that money.” Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Mondstadt does, technically, have an aristocracy, though the noble clans have long fallen out of the public eye. Then Diluc says things like this and he remembers that the Ragnvindr family were once one of the strongest clans in the entire nation.
The Gunnhildr clan has long since been shattered, though Jean carries on their legacy in a most admirable way. The Lawrence clan are disgraced. The Imanlaukr vanished centuries ago. In terms of influence, the Ragnvindrs remain the closest to their original power, even if there’s only one of them left.
“What are you talking about? You do have money,” Diluc says, frowning.
Kaeya shoots him a look, momentarily forgetting the brawl happening next to them. “Being a Cavalry Captain pays, sure, but it’s not the same as nobility inheritance.”
“I know,” Diluc replies, frown deepening, in the tone of voice meant to convey, I was also Cavalry Captain, you idiot. “But you literally have nobility inheritance.”
He freezes. Blinks. Stares at Diluc, as if that would change anything he just said, and then considers the possibility of having gone deaf in an ear in order to match his eye. “What?”
“You got half of the inheritance,” Diluc says. “I didn’t try to touch it. You’re not actively getting the winery’s earnings, because you don’t do any work for it, but there’s probably something in the paperwork that would let you get at least some.”
“No, I did not,” Kaeya refutes immediately, all thoughts of Barbatos cast away. “How could I have known that? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I thought you already knew,” Diluc says incredulously. “And I don’t know! It's been years! Did you listen when people started bringing up the Ragnvindr inheritance?”
Of course I did, Kaeya wants to say, but it dies in his throat before he can even say a word. Because – he didn’t, not really. After Crepus’ death, after he and Diluc fought and the other left Mondstadt, he hadn’t paid attention to a single thing mentioning the Ragnvindr family. The moment anyone said the name around him, he’d immediately left, or at the very least blocked it out from his hearing.
It had been too fresh, too painful, to think about the family that had taken him in, so he hadn’t let himself think about it at all.
“Barbatos help me,” Diluc groans. “You didn’t.”
“Well I’m sorry, it was kind of a sore subject,” Kaeya snaps back instinctively, still in shock from the revelation he’d just been handed. It’s too much, too soon – he hasn’t even moved on from Venti.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks, is this how Diluc felt? And then he tries not to laugh or cry. It’s impressive, really, how the two of them manage to still be such disasters after so many years.
Diluc winces, clearly hearing the pointed message veiled in those words, and opens his mouth to say something. He doesn’t get a chance to say it.
Instead, he gets cut off by another loud crash, with a series of much louder shouts to accompany it this time.
Kaeya sees the opportunity and seizes it. He doesn’t like the direction that this conversation is heading in, at all, because the two of them don’t do honest conversations. They’re steering dangerously close to discussing what had happened all those years ago, but while he’ll admit they’ve gotten closer again recently – and how he’s so painfully, pathetically grateful for it! – they’re certainly not at the point of properly talking about it.
If he has his way, they never will be. There’s no need to bring it up again now.
“I’ll take care of that,” he informs Diluc, sliding off of his barstool easily. “No need to trouble yourself with leaving the bar.”
Diluc gives him an indecipherable look, but nods. “Fine.”
Dealing with a bunch of drunkards, after all, is much easier than dealing with a Ragnvindr. Somehow, in the light of his conversation with Diluc, the question of Venti is so much easier. In the end, Barbatos is entirely conceptual to him. Venti may have defeated some Abyssal monsters, but there are plenty of ordinary Vision-holders who can do that.
Perhaps not ordinary, not if Nimrod’s recounting of the strength of those monsters is to be believed, but it’s not impossible, either.
Kaeya has never known Venti as Barbatos. He’s only ever known Venti as his friend. Diluc, however, and the Ragnvindr family, comes with its long, twisted net of emotions, starting all the way from when he was eight years old and dropped off at their doorstep unceremoniously.
In the face of that, Kaeya much prefers dealing with the Venti situation.
He steps over the mess caused by a bunch of alcoholics left unsupervised and peers down at Pallad, who’s being held onto by Cyrus in what appears to be half-apology and half-restrainment, and Draff, who is fully unconscious, but it’s unclear whether it’s from the amount of wine he’s drunk or whether Pallad managed to get a hit in.
Kaeya opts for the former. Pallad may be an adventurer, but he’s a notoriously unsuccessful one, and when he’s not completely inebriated Draff is a rather competent hunter. He doubts that Pallad would actually be able to knock him out.
“Cyrus,” Kaeya starts. “What’s going on?”
Cyrus sighs, sobriety momentarily breaking out over his face, and he says, “they argued over Venti. Uh, Barbatos. Venti. And the Church.”
“Just call him Venti, that’s what he wants anyway,” Kaeya says, exasperated. “How does that even result in this?”
Cyrus shrugs. “I wasn’t paying attention to that part.”
Meaning that he was too drunk to properly remember. Kaeya sighs, but the source behind the argument isn’t really that important. “Pallad, go home.”
Pallad stirs from his alcohol-induced haze and groans unintelligibly. “What, it’s not my fault!”
“Diluc will kick you out if you don’t leave yourself and he won’t be nice about it,” Kaeya says, and Pallad visibly shudders, tripping over himself as he attempts to get up and slowly stumbles towards the exit. “Cyrus, help me carry Draff to the Cathedral?” He probably didn’t get alcohol poisoning, but it’s not something he’s willing to risk right now.
Cyrus nods, crouching down to lift up part of the hunter’s body as Kaeya reaches for his arms, and the two of them awkwardly shove through the cramped tavern to leave. As he passes by the bar, Kaeya catches Diluc’s eye, who makes an extremely relieved face and nods in gratitude.
Poor guy, honestly. He may have complicated feelings about him, but even he’ll admit that having to deal with so many people every night at their most inebriated as someone who hates having to speak with others at all must be exhausting.
Patton opens the door for them, sending them off with an amused good luck, and they make their way through Mondstadt’s streets and up her numerous staircases to the Church. It’s still the right time that Barbara should be awake, and early enough that Kaeya can probably continue his night out if he returns to the tavern quickly.
It’s only when they’re almost at Barbatos’ statue – which, honestly, must be what triggers it in the first place – that Cyrus asks, “Did you hear about Venti?”
Kaeya stiffens. “Everyone has.”
“Well, yes, but I don’t think anyone’s heard your opinion yet,” he says, shrugging, and almost dropping Draff entirely.
Kaeya falls silent for a long moment. He could just lie. There's a part of him that wants to, that wants to just say the easiest thing he can, but there's something stopping him. It wouldn't be right - not for this, at least.
“I don’t think it matters,” he says, finally, and it’s only when he says it out loud that it feels true. He’d made the decision to ignore Venti’s identity – or, at the very least, try not to let it affect him – but it’s good to finally have some semblance of confidence in it. It doesn’t matter. Not really. This is Mondstadt, the city of Freedom; if a Khaenri’ahn is free to walk amongst its walls, why can’t its Archon?
Cyrus doesn't say anything for just as long, and then he responds, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just strange. I mean, he was always one of us, y’know? Even if he only showed up a couple of years ago.”
“He still is, isn’t he?”
“Yeah,” Cyrus says. “Guess he was with us all along.”
Kaeya doesn’t know whether he means that for Venti or Barbatos, but he supposes that’s the entire point, after all. They’re the same person.
“Ha, you know, it might be weird, but I’d like to drink another pint with Venti sometime,” Cyrus says, voice a little louder, something a little looser in the set of his shoulders.
Kaeya pauses, and smiles. “I suppose I’d like to, as well.”
Dahlia barely manages to make it three steps outside of the Cathedral doors before running directly into someone. He stumbles back, wincing, and there’s an apology spilling out of his mouth before he even catches sight of the look on her face.
The woman he’d accidentally bumped is unfamiliar, wearing hunting clothes, the familiar brown leathers typical of Springvale. It explains why he hasn’t seen her around as frequently – but it doesn’t explain why she was clearly looking for him. He doesn’t think he’s ever spoken to the woman before, but the relief that dawns on her face when she recognizes him is unmistakable, and he’s already bracing himself before she even speaks.
There’s only one reason that people have been coming to find him recently, and Dahlia dreads the question he knows is going to come out of her mouth before it even happens. If he has to avoid another person’s attempts to figure out the link between Dahlia, Venti, and Barbatos, he might actually renounce the Church and start murdering people. He’s sure Rosaria would help him.
(Then Venti would have to find a different Herald, and there’s no guarantee the next one will be as good as Dahlia, so he can’t do it. But the concept has become far more appealing than it should be.)
“Deacon Dahlia,” she says, hands coming up to grasp onto his own in a wordless plea.
“Yes?” he responds, closing his eyes in his best approximation of patience and hoping that the trepidation doesn’t come through his voice too obviously.
“Please, will you bless my child?”
Dahlia stops, opening his eyes, and stares at her in shock. She stares back at him, clear anxiety welling up in her eyes the longer he doesn’t respond.
It’s part of his duties as deacon, certainly, and something that the Church does for many newborns in Mondstadt – though it’s rarer for people to ask them to travel out of the city – and he’s been sent to do it rather frequently.
The thing is, it’s not an unusual request. But it hasn’t been one made of him in weeks, and it’s that fact that leaves him floundering, forgetting half of his training.
Does she truly not want to ask about Venti?
It’s only when he spots tears starting to collect at the edges of the woman’s eyes that he snaps out of it and nods, stepping closer to try to comfort her awkwardly. “Of course,” he says, and doesn’t question his good luck.
“Oh, thank you,” she sobs, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just – he’s so ill, and the doctors can’t find anything wrong with him. I thought, perhaps with the Church’s blessing, you know, perhaps only Barbatos can save him now.”
Dahlia pauses. Barbara would be a better fit if healing is the intended goal here, but it’s not like he’s completely unfamiliar with it. He simply prefers to utilize his Hydro vision in other ways.
Besides, looking at the state of the Springvale woman, he suspects part of it is that she simply requires the reassurance of the Church instead of actual Vision healing. It’s not uncommon for children to fall ill, and he should be able to handle whatever it is easily enough. Mondstadt has long been blessed with good weather and good health.
He can’t help but ask, though, “You ask me for Barbatos’ blessing, but not for Barbatos himself?”
She blinks at him, clearly confused, and says, “But Barbatos works through the Church, no?”
It’s only with years of practice that stops him from pulling a face instinctively. Venti, rather pointedly, dislikes the Church, claiming something about unnecessary rules and dramatics and an old friend probably playing a cruel prank on him when it was established. Dahlia has never bothered to ask.
But it is true that the Church is imbued with parts of Barbatos’ power, and their goal is to carry out his ideals, so Dahlia won’t be the one to shatter that image. “Of course,” he replies, and doesn’t say, I actually meant Venti.
She seems to hear it anyway. He must be truly exhausted if someone can read him that easily, or perhaps it’s just a topic of conversation common enough that everyone falls back to it. “I don’t care if our Archon is a bard or not. Barbatos has guided me through my life, and I have the utmost faith in him regardless of what everyone is saying.”
He almost laughs. It’s a lot like what he’d said to Venti himself, all those years ago.
It’s… sweet, in its own way, to see that reflected in the people. It’s part of why Dahlia joined the Church, after all.
After all these weeks, to find someone who doesn’t seem to mind at all – perhaps it’s a sign. He certainly hopes it is.
“Faith will carry us through this,” Dahlia agrees, and then winces. He sounds like Barbara.
The woman nods. “It’s good to see people still believe.”
He’s a member of the Church. If anything, he should be the one saying that, though if those words ever come out of his mouth then it means he’s spending far too much time around Sister Grace.
“I believe Mondstadt will continue,” she adds, giving him a knowing look. Dahlia tilts his head in response, and she continues, “Believing, that is. We are a loyal nation.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard that one before,” Dahlia says, and thinks of Venti, coming back even when he could wait for another hundred years with no consequence. Is it not just that they give that back to him just as he deserves? “But I can’t say I disagree, either.” He straightens, adjusting his gloves, and gestures for her to walk. He’d almost forgotten the reason she’d come to see him in the first place. “Lead the way. I’ll take a look at your child.”
Jean hesitates, and then asks, “do you think I should do something about the situation?”
Lisa looks over at her from where she’d been quietly archiving the day’s records for the library. “The Venti situation?”
“Yes,” she says, slipping her paperwork into a folder and sealing it. Mondstadt has finally started to calm down enough that she’s managed to actually finish her work each day, so she’s taken to doing the last of it in the library in order to spend a little more time with Lisa. “As the Acting Grandmaster, maybe I can put a stop to it.”
Lisa laughs sharply, then immediately covers her mouth with one gloved hand in a feigned apology. “I’m sorry, but Jean, you won’t be able to stop people from gossiping.”
Jean sighs, standing up from her chair to walk closer and watch as Lisa continues to reshelve her book with an amused smile playing on her lips. “I know, I’m just worried.”
“For Venti?” Lisa raises a brow. “He’ll be fine. According to Diluc, he’s off having fun in Liyue with an old friend.”
Jean huffs out a laugh, already imagining exactly what sort of fun that Venti would be getting up to. She suddenly feels rather sympathetic for whoever this friend is. Hopefully they have good cures for hangovers.
“I’m glad to hear that,” she says, smiling. “But I want him to feel welcome in Mondstadt.”
Lisa inhales sharply, pushing a book back into place and turning around to face her, one hand cocked on her hip. “Jean, you can’t help.”
“What–”
“Jean, listen to me,” she shakes her head, the picture-perfect combination of concerned and disappointed. “You spend all your time in that office of yours, so you probably wouldn’t know, but if you say anything right now, it’ll make things worse.” From the look on Jean’s face, she must understand her doubt, so she continues, “things are, surprisingly, getting better. People are starting to move on. You’d just be dragging everything back out and Venti isn’t going to come back for another six weeks.”
“I’m not trying to do that,” Jean exclaims. “I just want to help things get back to normal.”
“Things aren’t going to go back to normal,” Lisa tells her. “The old normal, at least. Everyone knows that Venti is Barbatos now. That’s not going to be forgotten.”
Jean slumps, leaning against a bookcase, and thinks of Venti saying, you shouldn’t be adding my problems onto your own. I’m a lot older than you, you know.
“I don’t know how he does it,” she says quietly. The duty of being an Archon, of being responsible for an entire nation, and dealing with everyone’s expectations of a god. She can’t blame him for disappearing once those expectations started shifting to Venti instead of just Barbatos. She can’t blame him for splitting the two apart at all.
“Time,” Lisa offers. “He’s thousands of years old. I don’t think this is the worst thing to ever have happened to him.”
“Still, it must feel awful.”
She shrugs. “Probably. I’m not denying that. But he’ll come back, just give it time. He needs it, and honestly, so does Mondstadt.”
“And if Mondstadt never accepts it?”
Lisa laughs. “Jean, it’s Mond. It’s the nation of Freedom. Of course they will. Like I said, just give them some time. They’re already calming down.”
Jean takes a deep breath and nods, pushing her hair back from her face. “Okay. Okay, you’re right.”
Lisa gives her a fond look and says, “you also need time, Jean. Time off. Windblume was weeks ago, there’s no reason for you to still be so busy now.”
“I’m not that busy anymore,” Jean replies. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Then leave the building,” she says, exasperated. “It’s not like my work is urgent, you don’t need to watch me do it.”
“I like spending time with you, though," Jean says, and carefully doesn't blush at how honest it sounds. At how honest it is.
Lisa blinks, and then smiles softly. “Alright, then.”
“Hey,” Rosaria says, accompanied by a gust of wind.
“Rosaria,” he returns, eying her carefully as she flips herself up the last ledge of the Cathedral building and his siblings fade into the air with a titter.
“What are you doing on top of the church.” From her, at least, it does not sound like a question, her tone dry enough that he could almost pretend she had been expecting him here the entire time. He wouldn't put it past her, impossible as it may be.
“My friend’s mad at me so he kicked me out,” Venti says, pouting.
She rolls her eyes, seamlessly moving past the curiosity he caught flashing over her face. “So you thought the Cathedral rooftop was a better spot?”
“Isn’t it?” He leans back against one of the stone carvings, watching the windmills below him spin leisurely. It is a nice evening, tonight, spring air offering them a warm embrace and a beautiful, clear view. There are always clouds around Jueyun Karst. Venti hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Mondstadt’s sights.
There’s a huff from somewhere, and then Rosaria drops down unceremoniously next to him, slouching against a ledge of her own. “You don’t even need to be on top of the roof to see this view,” she says. “You, especially.”
He hadn’t expected her to be so direct about it. At least she hasn’t truly asked him anything.
“Yes,” he nods, humming, “but it’s still nice, isn’t it?”
Rosaria shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t pay attention to things like that.”
Venti can’t help the laugh that escapes him. For all that humans are constantly evolving, it’s nice to see how some things never change, minor as it may be. “I guess you’re right.”
He’s sure Rosaria must have other things to do. She couldn’t have spotted him from the ground, after all, so if she’d come up to the rooftop there would have been a reason for it. He could ask the wind for it, but that seems like quite the hassle, and he trusts that she knows what she’s doing. Still, there must be something for her to do, but she stays.
Sitting, quietly, beside Venti, despite the topic that weighs unsaid between them.
He doesn’t quite hate it, but the anticipation gnaws at him, an awful, itching thing that tempts him to dissolve once more if only it might rid the feeling off of his skin. He knows it would do nothing. If Morax hears, again, then the other god might actually start throwing mountains at him again; if he runs, he’ll be disappointed, himself.
Still, the longer Rosaria goes without saying a word, the more restless he gets, concealing it in the quiet tapping of his fingers and itching, until she opens her mouth and says, “the bar is boring.”
Venti’s thoughts screech to a halt. “...Huh?”
“The bar is boring,” she repeats, though she glares at him in a way making it quite clear exactly how much she’s annoyed by him making her do so. “Kaeya and I are missing our drinking partner and Diluc’s missing out on entertainment.”
He closes his mouth, opens it, closes it, and then says, “I don’t think Diluc misses half of his wine stock being stolen.”
“It was never half,” she dismisses, “and anyway, you’re still the best bard in Mond. It’s not surprising, but still. The bar’s gotten boring.”
The mere concept is nearly incomprehensible to Venti. There’s always fun to be found – or made – in a tavern. He wants to refute it, to assure her that it surely can’t be that awful, but her glare only deepens at whatever expression is on his face.
Venti blinks. She scowls harder. Somewhere beyond them, the wind laughs at them both, and he tries his best not to yell at his siblings, too.
“Venti,” Rosaria says, and he realizes it’s the first time she’s said his name this entire time.
And then he realizes, oh.
There are very, very few Mondstadters who have bothered to call him Venti in months.
“Rosaria,” he replies, and something in her gaze lets up, ever so slightly.
“Do you get it, then?” she asks.
“I feel kind of silly,” he admits.
“Good,” she responds immediately, rolling her eyes again, but he can spot the fondness at the edges of it and grins. She catches the look on his face and practically gagas. “C’mon, I want beer,” she complains, standing up from their rooftop ledge.
“Do you not have something to do?” he asks, getting up anyway with a boost of green-flickered wind.
“What? No,” she says. “I came up here because Dahlia said you were here.”
Venti squints. “How the fuck did Dahlia know I was here?”
“Why would I know?” she frowns. “I figured it was something to do with being your Herald or whatever. I don’t know how it works, I’m, like, your least devout nun.”
“And I love you for that,” he says absent-mindedly, brow furrowing. Dahlia being his Herald certainly gives him no ability to track him. He pauses, and then, “oh, I hate them.”
She blinks. “What?”
“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” Venti says. His eye twitches. He has no idea why his siblings have decided to be so randomly uncooperative for the first time in literal centuries, but they’re certainly succeeding at pissing him off; if this keeps going, he’ll ban them from the city for a couple of weeks.
How many times will they meddle?
(Somewhere in Liyue, a retired god coughs, sensing hypocrisy in the air.)
“Right,” Rosaria says slowly, clearly disbelieving. “You’re not running off again.”
Venti raises his hands in surrender, tucking thoughts of his revenge away in his mind for the future. He could just teleport away, but from the look in her eyes, he’s sure that Rosaria would spontaneously learn how to keep up with it. “I’m not, I promise.”
“Good,” she hisses. “Make sure to stay the fuck in your city.”
He wants to make a joke there, something, anything, but he thinks of that furious fondness that lines Rosaria’s face and says instead, “I will. I promise.”
The words hardly even itch.
“Good,” Rosaria repeats. “Now, I want a drink.”
Venti walks back into Mondstadt nearly two months after he’d left it with Rosaria behind him, pushing open the door to Angel’s Share with a holler of Diluc’s name.
The man in question looks up from behind the counter, where he’d been conversing with Kaeya – quietly! Since when does that happen? – and Venti gets a beautiful, clear sight of his face falling the second he sees Rosaria behind him.
“Please,” Diluc says, ignoring the abrupt dip in conversation behind them. “My bar was peaceful.”
Kaeya snickers, twisting around in his chair to greet them better. “Angel’s Share has never been peaceful in your life and you know it,” he says, and then nods at them. “Rosaria. Venti.”
To his credit, he hardly trips up on Venti’s name at all, and it kind of makes him want to cry. But he can’t cry in front of Kaeya and he certainly can’t cry in a bar full of people millennia younger than him, so he schools his expression and beams right back.
No matter what had happened these months, no matter what might have changed about Venti or about Mondstadt – his friends don’t seem to care. It’s more than he could have ever wanted.
“Took you long enough,” Kaeya says, smirking, and Diluc is groaning behind him and making a face, but he’s already taking down three glasses and reaching for the wine, and Venti is not crying.
He’s not. He really isn’t.
“Hurry up, Diluc,” Rosaria complains, already heading for her usual seat at the bar. Kaeya had left Venti’s alone. There’s no one else in it. “I’ve been sober for too long tonight.”
“The words long and sober should not be in the same sentence with you,” Kaeya says immediately, and Diluc snorts before immediately looking like he regrets it, pushing the now-filled glasses across the countertop.
It’s all the sign that Venti needs, and he takes it.
It has not been that long since he’d been in Angel’s Share, even ignoring his brief and ill-thought-out appearance a couple of days prior. To someone who has lived so many years, a month or two should be nothing.
Still, sliding onto that barstool is a motion so routine to him that it feels almost foreign. Kaeya has already struck up conversation with Rosaria beside him about some gossip or other, Diluc pretending as if he isn’t listening in just as eagerly. How many times have they done this? How long has it been since Venti has let himself take part?
The dandelion wine in his glass tastes like prayer. When he finally manages to tune back into their conversation, he barely hears the tail end of Kaeya’s good-hearted jokes about Quinn.
“Oh, he still hasn’t confessed,” Venti says automatically. “He keeps talking to the wind about it.”
Kaeya abruptly falls silent. He freezes, looking up at his shocked face, and feels one overwhelming second of regret before the captain’s face breaks out into an alarmingly wide grin and he shifts closer, a promise of nothing but mischief in his voice as he says, “tell me everything.”
Next to him, Rosaria says, “huh,” but there’s a glimmer in her eyes, too.
They’re not ignoring it. They’re not, but they’re not addressing it, either, and the way they’re speaking to him is so familiar that –
Venti’s just glad. He truly, really is just happy, and he lets himself sink back into the warmth of Angel’s Share, like a balm to an ache he’d long forgotten he’d had.