Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Venti was nothing more than a wisp on the wind, he met a boy who wanted to see the birds fly. A tyrant ruled Mondstadt at that time, surrounding the city with everlasting storms. Eventually, war would break out within the city, led by this boy as the citizens fought for their freedom. They would win, but not without cost.

The boy, who’d sung about freedom and birds, would never see the things he dreamt of. He’d lose his life fighting for it.

But before he would fall, before the war began, he and Venti spent a number of days together. Venti loved to listen to the bard play his lyre, the sound beautiful even over the roar of the winds. It was something to admire, and many others did.

There was one man specifically that was always with them.

He was tall with fiery red hair, his cool, calm demeanor practically the opposite of the playful bard’s. The two of them went everywhere together, even excluding Venti, as well as one could exclude an elemental being. He was aware, though, that some moments weren’t meant to be intruded on.

It was strange. He couldn’t place this feeling in his stomach. It felt like a pit, aching and gnawing away at his chest. He felt it whenever he saw the two of them together, whenever he happened to catch a tender moment.

Venti was aware the two were lovers. It wasn’t a secret between them, and not a soul in this city would judge them for it. The bard loved this knight, and the knight loved him in return.

At first he wondered if he bothered him to know he’d never understand the feeling. Love was a foreign concept. He didn’t know what it felt like to be in love.

It was later, as he watched the young bard breathe his last breath in the arms of his lover, that Venti realised that wasn’t true.

He had been in love, and all this time it was jealousy tearing him up inside.

After living for over a thousand years and spending most of that time settled in Mondstadt, Venti came to the realisation that some souls were reincarnated. It was a shock the first time he’d seen a familiar face some two hundred years after the person had died. He passed it off as a coincidence, but then it happened again, and again.

They never had the same name but their face and their personalities were undeniable. In a way it was nice, but it was sad too. He always remembered their previous selves, no matter if they were close or merely strangers. Not a single one remembered him. That made sense, of course, though it didn’t feel any less lonely.

But Venti grew used to the phenomenon after a while. It began to feel more like déjà vu, less jarring than it was in the beginning. Until the day he’d entered Angel’s Share and came face to face with the tavern’s owner.

Tall, with fiery red hair, and a cool, calm demeanor.

Diluc Ragnvindr was undoubtedly the reincarnated version of his old friend’s lover.

After the tyrant fell and the storm cleared, the bard’s lover, bereft with grief, had taken his own life in turn. Venti hadn’t had a moment to grieve either one before he was blessed with power and became the new god of this land.

He took the form of his friend, determined to keep his memory alive, to play the lyre the bard had loved so much. To this day, he sings stories of those old days, retelling the tales that many had forgotten.

He had not thought of love or jealousy since the loss of his dear friend.

So he’s surprised one afternoon, while he’s admiring Flora’s stand, when he overhears a conversation not too far from him. There are two women having a conversation. One he does not recognise and the other he does.

“I want to tell him how I feel but…” It’s Donna speaking, her voice soft. “We’ve hardly ever spoken.”

“You should tell him!” Her friend encourages, hands clasped together at this oh-so-exciting prospect. “Oh! Bring him some flowers! Surely a gift would win him over.”

It’s amusing how worked up humans get over things like confessions. He’s about to walk away, but freezes when Donna responds.

“Do you think Diluc likes flowers?”

Diluc?

That Diluc?

She’s planning to confess to him?

It’s a shock to the system how easily a thousand year old feeling comes back to him. A cold sweat forms, a pit growing in his stomach. He recognizes it immediately.

He clears his throat, looking at the two women with a plastered on smile. “I apologise— I don’t mean to eavesdrop.” Venti reaches out, picking up a small lamp grass by the stem and holding it out toward Donna. “If it’s Diluc you’re trying to woo, I believe these are his favorites.”

Perhaps he’s a fool for aiding her, but Venti knows his feelings now are as futile as they were back then.

The knight had never returned his feelings. Why would Diluc?

An Archon wasn’t meant to be with a human. It was better for her to confess. Diluc could fall in love with her, have a family, live their forty years together and die together, as humans were meant to.

He didn’t feel even a little bit sorry when Diluc rejected Donna.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

It’s late and the tavern closed hours ago. Venti is the only patron left, even if Diluc stopped refilling his glass by now. He’s here for the conversation, not the drink.

Diluc raises an eyebrow at the question, but shakes his head. “It sounds illogical— but you would know better than I would.”

“Clever boy.” Venti laughs a little. “I was surprised by it. Still am, sometimes. It’s hard to prove, but I’m getting pretty good at figuring out who’s an old soul and who’s a new one, even if we never met before.”

“Is there anyone you know now that’s an ‘old soul’?”

“For sure! Six-Fingered Jose? You don’t forget a guy who’s born with that many fingers. And Lisa, but honestly… she’s so scary, I can’t tell if she’s reincarnated or immortal….” That one makes Diluc crack a smile. “And there’s Kaeya. I’ve never seen him before, but he has that feeling, you know?”

The smile drops at the mention of Kaeya, but Diluc nods. “Makes sense.”

Does it? Venti debates dropping the subject there, tapping his finger on the counter to keep things from being totally silent in the bar. Against his better judgement, he continues.

“I’ve met you before.”

That catches Diluc’s interest again, of course. “Oh?” He looks to Venti to tell him more.

“It was well over a thousand years ago. Before I was even the Anemo Archon.” He’s hesitant to say more, knowing he could sweep it under the rug, like they’d only met once and never again. He doesn’t want to lie about their history, though. “We were friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Diluc gives him a long look, his expression hard to read as ever. “... Honestly, I thought it was the statues, but maybe that’s why you’ve always looked so familiar to me.”

For a moment, he’s hopeful that someone remembers him, only to have that hope shattered. He knows if Diluc recognises him, then it’s not really him that he remembers.

Venti’s smile is strained when he replies.

“... Maybe.”

Chapter Text

“What is this?”

It’s a stupid question, because Venti has eyes with which to see the dandelion being held out to him. Even Diluc is giving him a funny look at that, and doesn’t grace him with a response. He just continues to hold it out toward Venti, expression somewhat amused and expectant.

Flustered, Venti reaches out and takes it from him, twirling the delicate flower between his fingers. “I— that was the wrong thing to ask. Why are you giving me a dandelion?”

He has a lot of other questions he could ask, like where Diluc has been for the last four hours and why he has a pack on his back holding a number of different flowers. If he had to guess, Diluc had been out foraging for wine ingredients. Unfortunate he decided to go out on the day Venti stopped by for a visit.

Except Venti had been visiting more and more often since the two of them formally met. Part of him did it for the possibility of a free drink that never came, but mostly he just wanted an excuse to see Diluc. It worked sometimes, when Diluc wasn’t off being a vigilante or doing actual winery business. Not as often as he’d like.

“You like them, don’t you?”

Did he? Venti looked at the dandelion again, twirling and twirling to watch little puffs of it fly off. As far as flowers went, cecilias were his favorites. Dandelions were fragile, susceptible to falling apart by his very element. They were pretty, but….

A sad smile appeared on Venti’s face. This scene felt familiar. Even for an Archon, it wasn’t easy to dig up a memory from thousands of years ago, but when it came to that person , it was more often harder to forget.

He couldn’t forget the day his beloved redheaded knight handed him a dandelion.

At the time, as a mere elemental being, the flower was bigger than Venti, but not too heavy for him to hold. He’d been dazzled by it— it wasn’t his first time seeing one, but dandelions were a rarity when outside there was nothing but harsh, stormy winds blowing.

The knight had produced it from under his coat, the puffs half wrecked at this point, but it was as well preserved as it could have been. When Venti questioned where it came from, he answered with, “the greenhouse,” as if that were obvious.

(and he supposed it was, but he never had a clue that Mondstadt had a greenhouse)

When he asked why , the knight replied, “I thought you’d like it.”

Even now, Venti held the memory so dear to him, wishing he still had the stem of that long dead dandelion.

“Venti?”

He snapped out of it, looking back up at Diluc with wide eyes. Diluc looked almost concerned now, brow furrowed and a frown on his face. How long had he been silent for?

“Oh! Sorry! I was just…” Venti trailed off, gaze falling back on the dandelion in his hand, “... just remembering something.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

He shook his head and let out a small laugh. “No, no, don’t worry. It’s actually one of my favorite memories.” Venti looked up at Diluc with a smile, only to be surprised when he smiled back.

Genuine Diluc smiles were so rare! Venti could count the number of times he’d seen one on his fingers. The sight practically knocks the wind out of him, as much as the wind could be knocked out of the Anemo Archon.

He knows he’s staring. Gawking, even. He can feel warmth on his cheeks and knows he must be visibly blushing. If Diluc notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he readjusts the pack on his shoulders and looks toward the manor. “I should probably take these inside. Will you be here much longer?”

Venti blinks himself out of his stupor, willing himself not to stutter when he replies. “Yes. I mean— I don’t have anywhere else to be, so I can stay a while.”

“Good. Wait here, and I’ll be back with some cider.”

It wasn’t the drink Venti wanted, but he couldn’t complain about free cider either. He watched as Diluc walked away, until the redhead was out of sight. As soon as he was, Venti let out a sigh, careful not to blow any more seeds off the dandelion.

It was a beautiful flower, fragile as it was. Venti rested his chin in his free hand, twirling the dandelion once again. Diluc’s smile was still on his mind, giving him butterflies in his stomach.

“I think,” he says, speaking to himself or perhaps the dandelion, “this will be one of my most treasured memories too.”

Chapter Text

The statue stands tall, looking down on him, judging him for his sins. Venti is sure of this as he stares up at himself, sitting on the ground with a bottle in hand. He’d done his fair share of drinking at Angel’s Share tonight and left with a prize.

Perhaps he should feel guilty for stealing from the man he loved, but no one ever said he had good morals. And it was just another thing his statue could judge him for.

He sighs and drinks from the bottle, but the wine does him no good tonight. He knew coming here was a bad idea, and willingly walked up those steps anyway. It wasn’t unusual for him to come here on a bad night. Part of him wished he could look at his likeness and feel loved by his people.

Instead, he felt shame.

“You know, you could ask next time you want to take something to go.”

Venti jumps at the sudden voice, twisting around to face the speaker. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Diluc standing there, expressionless as ever. Was he mad? It was impossible to tell. But part of him hoped that maybe he was, and maybe he’d scold Venti for being such a mess.

“I didn’t realise you were around, ehehe….” It was a forced laugh, but if Diluc noticed then he didn’t comment on it. Venti relaxed somewhat and sighed again, turning his attention back to the statue.

He listens to Diluc’s heavy footsteps approach him, feels his presence as he sits beside him on the dusty ground, but Venti can’t bring himself to look at him again. He still felt shame burning in his chest. Was it even over the wine, or something else?

“Sorry—”

“It must be strange to see statues of yourself all over Mondstadt. You don’t seem particularly pleased by this one.”

Venti blinks, not expecting his apology to be cut off, and unsure how to respond to that at all. Strange was one way to put it, but it wasn’t the strangeness of it that bothered him.

He didn’t reply, not exactly. “Mm… you know, some people say it’s blasphemous of me to style my appearance in the likeness of Barbatos.”

“If only they knew.”

“Mhm. If only….” Venti trails off and takes another sip from his wine. He told people, sometimes. No one ever believed him, which was, of course, expected.

His eyes wander up to the statue’s face again. A face modeled after his own— a face that wasn’t his face. One that deserved to be worshiped, but not for the reason it was.

“... Diluc.”

He didn’t need to look at his companion to feel his gaze boring into him. It had been since before he called his name. “Yes?”

Venti swallows, uncertain now. He wanted to speak, but feared the consequences of speaking. Was it fair for him to keep living this way? Was it fair for him to stand in the spotlight, overshadowing the boy no one remembered?

In his heart, he believed it wasn’t. But admitting it was another thing entirely.

“Diluc.” He repeats, voice somewhat strained suddenly. “Diluc… I… I used to know a boy.” Venti clears his throat and lets out a breath, resigning himself to this now. “Many people are lost to history, no matter how great they were. Sixteen hundred years pass and suddenly no one remembers the boy who saved Mondstadt. A thousand years after that, and there’s no record of him at all. Not a single mention in any book.”

He knew that for certain. He’d poured over every record of the great war that brought down the God of Storms before him, but none of them mentioned the bard who led the war. His dear friend who sacrificed himself for everyone.

“The people of Mondstadt should praise him, you know? He’d be a better Archon than I ever was.”

There’s a long pause between them, but the silence is perfectly fine to Venti. It gives him time to down more of his wine, to drown out the bad feelings that make him want to go back into hiding.

Until Diluc breaks it, reminding him that he can’t just run away from this. He did it to himself. He chose this form, after all.

“If there’s someone you want the people to remember, then why don’t you remind them? You’re a storyteller, aren’t you?” Diluc asks him, his gaze still burning into Venti. Perhaps that’s just the pyro in him, resonating with Venti’s emotions without him even realising.

“That’s the thing….” Venti puts the now-empty bottle down on the ground beside him. “I’ve tried. I could weave his name into a thousand songs and still no one would believe me.”

“I see.” There’s another pause, and Diluc finally takes his eyes off of him, looking up at the statue instead. Venti isn’t sure if he understands, but part of him wants Diluc to know. But another part…. “Why don’t you tell me about him?”

Venti lets out a weak laugh. “I… I can’t do that.”

“No? Why not?”

Now it’s his turn to look at Diluc, to admire his handsome face, so like the knight he used to know. He only looks for a moment before he lets out another sigh and faces his mirror image once more.

And before he can think better of it, he scoots closer to his companion, letting himself slump against Diluc and resting his head on his shoulder.

“I’m afraid you’d fall in love with him.”

Chapter Text

Being a reincarnated soul was… strange. Truth be told, the whole thing had been on Diluc’s mind since Venti told him they’d met before. It was hard to believe, but also it wasn’t. Suddenly little things he thought were strange made more sense. Dreams that felt more like memories, and the feeling of déjà vu that followed him so often.

The grief that welled up within him when they stepped foot in Stormterror’s lair.

He didn’t mention it then, and he doubts he ever will, but he has to wonder … does Venti know the reason he felt so strongly about that place? He wanted to ask, but after the night before, the way Venti spoke of the past, Diluc felt it was better not to ask him too many questions. No need to dig up more memories of past people he knew. The few times he did mention it, his smile was so strained.

As much as he wants to know more about his past life, he resigns himself to finding out on Venti’s terms. There wasn’t any record of it that he could find— but how would he know? There had been thousands of redheaded knights throughout history.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from pouring over the books in his personal collection, looking for any sign of himself, and the boy Venti spoke of last night.

Diluc had done Venti the service of carrying him to the winery after he’d dozed off on his shoulder. He was kind enough to even give up his bed. He chose research over sleep, though it proved fruitless in the end. He should have expected that. If Venti already knew there was no record of his friend, then why would there be any here?

The knight, though… that was up in the air. He wondered if, perhaps, there would be any record in his family history, but it was unlikely. Being reincarnated didn’t mean being born into the same family line again.

He didn’t stop looking until the sun came up, reminding him just how weary he actually was.

When he opens the door to his room, he finds Venti still sleeping peacefully in his bed. Temptation crept up on him, the itch to crawl into bed with Venti, to sink into the soft mattress and hold him as they slept. The very idea made him flush.

He takes one step forward.

Pauses.

And turns around. The door shuts behind him— and later the maids would find him asleep on the sofa.

When Venti wakes, he’s too comfortable. It’s so pleasantly soft and warm here, he doesn’t want to move. He’s hesitant to even open his eyes at first.

And then, obviously, he comes to the realisation that he has no clue where he is. He sits up with a gasp, eyes wide open now while he takes in his surroundings. He’s in a room he’s never seen before, in a bed he’s never been in before. The room’s decor is simple, and nothing about it gives away much.

Not until he spots the greatsword resting against the wall, and the memory of who he spent last night with creeps back up on him.

‘Is this… Diluc’s room?’

The sound of the door opening startles him, but his question is answered when Diluc walks into the room. His eyebrow is raised, expression a little amused, and Venti thinks he must look like a fool right now. He shakes his head and wills himself to calm down.

“You’re awake. Good. There’s breakfast for you, if you’re hungry.”

Oh, breakfast sounded delicious. But that could wait. He looks at Diluc again, less bewildered this time. “How did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

“You—” How embarrassing! Venti knew he was drunk, but he didn’t think he was that drunk! He couldn’t even remember falling asleep. “That’s a long way…. You didn’t have to bring me all the way here.”

Diluc shrugs his shoulders. “You don’t weigh much.” Bonus of being the Anemo Archon, quite literally light as a feather. “Besides, I couldn’t just leave you there. And I doubt you could afford a hotel. This was the cheaper option for me.”

“Not that you’re hard on money.” Venti teases. He feels a little guilty that Diluc went so far just to make sure he was comfortable but….

Wait.

“Is this your bed?”

Diluc nods. So then, where did…?

“I slept here.”

He nods again.

“And… you?”

Diluc’s face turns just a tinge of pink and he immediately shakes his head. “No, no. I slept downstairs.”

“Oh.” Why was that so disappointing? Venti clears his throat and brushes off the awkward atmosphere he created. “Well, um. Thank you.” He says, giving Diluc a smile.

Despite his flush, Diluc manages a small smile back.

After breakfast, Venti doesn’t stick around long. Diluc assures him it’s fine to, but the bard insists he has other things to do.

Diluc wanted to talk about the night before, to get more information out of a sober Venti, but he was pretty sure that’s exactly what Venti wanted to avoid. Not surprising, but unfortunate nonetheless.

“I’m afraid you’d fall in love with him.”

The words had been replaying in Diluc’s head since he woke up from his short nap. He couldn’t forget the soft, sad tone in Venti’s voice. He couldn’t decipher what he even meant by it. His friend was dead. Just a tale to be told now— so how could he fall in love with a boy from the past?

He had his suspicions, but no way to confirm or deny them.

Dreams like memories and déjà vu were nothing compared to the familiarity that surrounded Venti. Everything from his appearance down to his mannerisms, even though they hadn’t known each other long. It was that sense of familiarity that made it so easy to believe Venti when he said they’d known each other before.

Diluc admitted it then, that Venti had looked familiar to him. But now… now that they knew each other better, spent time together often , even, Diluc felt something was off.

He couldn’t place his finger on it, not exactly. It was as if Diluc remembered his face and his personality, but as two separate entities.  He didn’t quite get it, but he was good at piecing things together, and their conversation last night gave him more pieces of this puzzle to work with. There were a few things now he was absolutely certain of.

Venti had been in love. Had lost his love. (to his friend? Diluc couldn’t be certain of that)

And it was clear he was afraid of losing his love again. Diluc wasn’t good with emotions, especially not of the romantic sort. He’d been confessed to, but never returned anyone’s affections, except—

It was becoming exceedingly clear to him, and he wished he could make Venti understand, but hardly understood it himself.

Diluc was falling for who Venti was, not who he appeared to be.

Chapter Text

Venti didn’t go to Liyue often these days. Or ever, really. He didn’t have a reason to, besides, perhaps, visiting Xiao, who wasn’t particularly good company even on his best days. Venti adored the Adeptus, of course, and had ever since the day they first met and Xiao listened to his song. He just wasn’t a people person, or an Archon person, or an anything person, which made him too socially awkward to converse with for longer than maybe an hour?

Unfortunately, not worth the trip to Liyue. But he did it from time to time anyway.

Xiao aside, Venti didn’t have anything to see in Liyue. At least, not until a certain traveler told him that Morax had retired. If faking your own death and wandering the country as a ‘human’ counted as retiring. Venti laughed his ass off hearing that. He’d been playing human for years now, but he never expected stiff, boring old Morax to try his hand at it.

So, obviously, as soon as he’d heard the news, Venti knew he had to go to Liyue and see Morax for himself.

Not Morax. Zhongli. That was the name he was going by now.

Finding him was surprisingly easy. It seemed like everyone in the city knew of Zhongli. That they admired him— something that Venti was a little jealous of. How did he manage to make a city full of people revere him when he was so… so! Stubborn and boring! Meanwhile, Venti was viewed as more of a nuisance among his people than anything. People knew him for his songs, but they didn’t praise him the way Liyuens did Zhongli.

He would absolutely, never ever admit to being jealous, though.

Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is where Venti found him, approaching the building with too much mirth for a place that dealt with death. Just being here reminded him that Zhongli had planned out his own funeral, and Archons , he wished he could have seen it for himself. What a ridiculous man.

“Excuse me!” Venti called out to the Ferrylady outside the building, who almost seemed to ignore his presence. He wasn’t one to be ignored, though. “Excuse me,” he repeats, “I’m looking for Mr. Zhongli. Is he here right now?”

The woman hesitates before shaking her head. “No. Mr. Zhongli is at dinner with his husband.”

“Oh.”

… oh.

“Husband!?”

Venti doesn’t meet with Zhongli until the following day, and when he does he’s still reeling from the news. Morax, who’s been a human for— what? A few months at most? Morax is married.

He has so many questions. Who did he marry? When? Are they a human? How did Zhongli choose to get married so easily when Venti has been living a nightmare trying to sort out his own love life!?

What he ends up asking, before even greeting Zhongli, is, “Why wasn’t I invited?”

To which Zhongli gives him a long, confused look, followed by a slow blink. “... but you were? I invited you out to tea.”

“No, no, not that! The wedding!”

“Ah…”

“I am your oldest friend, aren’t I?” Venti asks, giving Zhongli the saddest look he can muster. Unfortunate that Zhongli can see right through him.

He ignores the pleading face and sips his tea. “Mm… no one was. It was spur of the moment, I suppose. Ajax knew he had to leave for Snezhnaya and asked me to wait for him. I asked him why we should wait.”

Oh, there were so many details Venti wanted to know. The more he was told, the more questions he had. Surely Zhongli wouldn’t mind telling him a little more about his apparent husband.

“I’m surprised you were so bold. But really, Morax? You—”

“Please, call me Zhongli.”

“Right, whatever. Zhongli. You’ve barely spent any time living as a human and you’re already married. Haven’t you thought about, you know… enjoying yourself a little?”

“I am enjoying myself.”

Always so simple. Venti lets out a sigh. “It just seems a little soon for you to settle down already.”

“There will be plenty of time for that later, if I so choose. … but I’d regret it forever if I let the opportunity slip away from me.”

Venti hated how well he understood.

He plastered a smile onto his face, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, just the way he knew Zhongli hated. “Fair enough!” Mischief gleamed in his eyes as he looked at his companion. “So, when do I get to meet him?”

Ajax introduces himself as Childe , or Tartaglia, and as someone who’s gone by many names in the past, Venti doesn’t even blink at the prospect of him having three different names. He barely even notices it, because three other things become apparent to him rather quickly.

One, Childe is a new soul.

Two, he’s a member of the Fatui.

And three, he’s a Harbinger.

“You married a Harbinger!?” He asks.

Zhongli very calmly, almost happily, replies, “Yes.”

And Childe just laughs.

It turns out, Childe is very good natured, at least as far as mannerisms go. There’s an obvious bloodthirst in the way he talks about fighting, already mentioning how he’d love to have a duel with Venti at some point, and Venti turns him down on account of being the weakest Archon. And also because he’s not sure how he’d explain to Diluc or anyone else if he ended up injured because of it.

Childe is easy to get along with, and it’s clear the man adores Zhongli. He follows him around like a puppy, and damn if he isn’t eager to drop money on literally anything his husband wants. It’s actually cute to watch the two of them, despite the jealousy gnawing away at his insides. Venti craves affection too, and feels like he could have it if he wasn’t so… afraid .

Afraid of Diluc realising Venti isn’t the person he actually wants. But Zhongli’s words from before replay in his head like a recording. He knows he’ll regret it if he lets the opportunity slip away. He did once already.

A human’s lifetime is just a moment in their own, and Venti knows he’s lucky to even have this second chance to spend that moment with Diluc. He wishes he could be as bold as Zhongli, to marry without even a second thought.

His mood must show on his face, because Zhongli calls out to him and breaks him out of these thoughts. “Venti? Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Venti looks up at him, a little wide-eyed as he processes the question. “... oh! Yes! I’m alright! Ehehe, just thinking….”

“Oh? You seemed troubled.”

Troubled… that wasn’t a wrong way to describe it. It’s hard for him to fake a smile around Zhongli, perhaps because they’ve known each other so long. Zhongli would have the grace not to call him out on it, but Venti knew he’d see through it.

So he frowns, gaze becoming distant again while he taps his fingers on the table, trying to think of the right words to get himself out of this conversation. “I just—”

“Aha! I think I know what it is!”

Venti blinks, surprised at the sudden interruption from Childe. The human is grinning, eyes glimmering with amusement. “You… what?”

“It’s love, isn’t it?”

Shit.

“What? No! What makes you think that?” Venti says, laughter awkward and forced.

“Zhongli told me you’d be talkative and energetic, but since I came around you’ve been quiet. You don’t seem tired or under the weather, so I suspect jealousy is the culprit.” The explanation comes so smoothly, Venti would hardly believe Childe was trying to accuse him of something.

… was he trying to accuse him of something?

“I’m— you think I’m jealous of you?”

“Am I wrong?” Childe asks, tilting his head. “Or maybe you misunderstand. I don’t think you’re jealous of me, or in love with Zhongli. I think you’re jealous of our relationship.”

Venti stares at Childe, shocked by how easily he read him. Was it very obvious, or was Childe just that observant…?

He doesn’t respond for a moment, knowing now that he can’t talk his way out of it or make an excuse. Well, he could, but what good would it do? Maybe… it would be good to talk about. Who better to understand his plight of being in love with a human than an Archon married to one?

“... you’re right.” Venti lets out a sigh, slumping in his seat. “There’s a human… but it’s complicated.”

“We’ve clearly made it work. Unless… he doesn’t know you’re an Archon?”

“No, he knows. But— well. Childe. Do you know about reincarnation?”

There’s a simultaneous “No.” from both Childe and Zhongli, and the latter makes Venti raise an eyebrow.

“Zhongli, you don’t…? You’ve been alive longer than me! How have you not noticed?”

“What do you mean?”

No, it makes sense actually. Zhongli has never been terribly hands on with his people, and human souls are the ones that are more likely to be reincarnated, as far as Venti can tell anyway. “Souls are reincarnated from time to time. There are people I know now that I met hundreds of years ago, same face, same body, but different names.”

“How can you be sure?” Childe asks, more curious than skeptical. “Couldn’t it be a coincidence that they look the same?”

“It could be, but… I can tell when someone’s a reincarnated soul. There’s a different aura about them. Like you, Childe. I can tell you’re not one. Yours is an entirely new soul. And with Diluc—” Venti sees Childe’s expression change at the mention of his name. Does he know of Diluc? “—I know I’ve met him before. He was… a few thousand years ago, he was in love with a very dear friend of mine. And I was….”

“... you were in love with him then.” Zhongli finishes the thought for him, frowning. At Venti’s nod, he continues. “Is it the same now? Is he in love with someone else?”

“No… not that I know of. In fact, he might… feel the same for me?” Or was that just him being hopeful? He shook the thought off. “It doesn’t matter if he does, though, because I think… he might just be projecting his old life’s feelings for my friend onto me. Because,” he gestures at his body, “I took his appearance when I made this form.”

“You think that,” Childe says, “but does he remember your old friend at all?”

“Um. No, not that I can tell.”

“So you’re just making assumptions.”

“... yes?”

“This is ridiculous!” Childe gives an exasperated sigh and looks at Zhongli. “What if we just invite this Diluc guy here? We can play matchmaker!”

“Is that a game?”

“Heh, no, no, we can’t make a game out of something as serious as love. It’s more like… helping. Giving a gentle push to two people who clearly need it.”

“I see... I think it’s a good idea. How do we go about inviting him here?”

“Maybe we can ask Aether to send a message for us?”

“You two know I’m still here, right?” Venti huffs, crossing his arms as he glares at the two. “I don’t need anyone to play matchmaker!”

He could confess on his own. Maybe.

“Look— something Zhongli said earlier made me realise that I can’t keep waiting. That’s… the real reason I’ve been so distracted all day.”

“Aw! Zhongli, you’ve inspired him!”

“Have I? How wonderful. We should celebrate. Bring out the good wine, won’t you Ajax?”

“The ‘good’ wine!? What’s that implying!?”

Venti doesn’t get an answer while Childe walks away to retrieve ‘the good wine’. It better be good, but he doubts any wine could be sweeter than Diluc’s.

And no, he’s not just saying that because he’s biased.

When Childe returns, he pours a glass for each of them, with which they toast, “To love!” Zhongli sips his, while Childe and Venti each take a larger swig.

“So Venti,” Childe asks, putting his glass down. “What’s your plan now?”

“After I leave here?” Venti ponders it, fingers tapping on the table again. “I suppose… I’ll go home.”

“And?”

“... I’ll tell him everything.”