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None of the songs on the radio, remind me of you
"Fly, fly away, like a bird in the sky. See the world on my behalf, to the heavens may you fly." Venti had recited in chagrin, his turquoise orbs threatening to spill the centuries of bottled emotions. A doleful look.
"Venti…" Aether trailed, his eyes of gold laced with concern. He didn't know what to say to his green clad friend. Many, many things come and go in the existence of an immortal, that much Aether knew --and could empathize with. However, the experiences and circumstances of each one could never be the same. He and Venti both lost someone dear to them, but unlike his sister, who he knew was still alive, Venti could never bring back his old friend.
With a sympathetic pat on the bard's shoulder, Aether left, knowing better than to pry any further, leaving the gnosis-less archon atop his own statue. The statue of his face, the same one as his friend's. The friend whose ballads he had carried on into the streets of Mondstadt, engraving it into the minds of the people. The friend whom he had cherished, one he had fervently loved.
Venti allowed his mind to drift away like the winds he manipulated, allowing his thoughts to carry through in a haze. He, who was part of the original seven, that is Barbatos. But he who played songs, composed ballads and advised the people in the trivial matters of the heart, that was his friend. Just like Stanley, the line where Barbatos started and his friend ended were blurred, and thus his human guise, Venti, was born.
To live for him and to become the spitting image of him...it was taxing.
So I write my little love songs, made for two.
Venti didn't know what possessed him to leave, but before he knew it he was gliding. Somewhere far away, away from the reminder chiseled in stone, from the city he had called his own. His numerous ballads of old and new flit through his head as he continued his journey. Taking in the sight of the walls erected by the people, from the houses to planters on the road. How he wished his friend could see this. He wished he could marvel at it too.
He landed by the gates, shooting a quick greeting to the two guards stationed at the front before disappearing in a trail of anemo. He had lifted himself up, his mind lost in the songs of the wind, its poems easing the swirling storm within him. The winds' attempts to comfort him were endearing.
He had set his sights on the nation beyond the mountains, the ones he had failed to flatten in his prime. He laughed bitterly to the winds. The winds knew him too well, it was terrifying at times.
("I wonder if you'll be able to transform? You're a being of wind after all." He had asked, his cape catching the violent winds of Mond as he strung in his lyre.
Barbatos could only answer with a hum as they playfully nuzzled their tiny body into the boy's neck. The bard took it as an answer. )
He soared through the night sky, allowing his wings to spread out and carry him higher. His windglider had been disposed of as the pearl coloured wings took its place. If anyone saw, then that was the end of that. It wasn't as if they could see his face, considering his massive wings allowed him the pleasure of concealing himself.
The sight before him was beautiful, almost poetic. The gingko leaves on the trees that littered the marshes of Liyue reminded Venti of the nights with his dear friend. His friend's lyre emanating soft sounds, lulling the once sprite turned archon to a comfortable sleep.
As he set his sights on the inn in the heart of the marsh, Venti spread his wings to it's berth and dove towards the open balcony. He knew that Verr wouldn't mind him keeping a certain Yaksha company, as long as he softened his steps and descended without ruckus, he should be fine. As he neared the inn he allowed himself to cruise at an even pace, his wings flexing at the sudden change in altitude. The wind that howled by his ears softened as a melody played, the sound of a dihua flute.
He allowed himself to land on the wooden railing, his shoes emitting a soft tap as his wings folded elegantly behind him. He came face to face with muddled eyes of gold.
"Sorry for crashing in, Xiao"
I'm a hopeless romantic, in love with the feeling, of needing somebody to hold.
The golden-eyed adeptus had merely scoffed, before returning to sharpening his spear in silence. Venti exhaled a sigh as he completely hid his wings from view, shooting a sideways glance at the yaksha. "Not even a hello?"
Xiao blinked before responding. "Greetings Lord Barbatos."
Venti groaned jokingly. "Venti, just Venti. Remember?"
"Yes. I do remember. Yaksha's have incredible memory." Xiao answered nonchalantly, balancing his spear on the ledge to get a better angle.
Venti was tempted to ask if the Yaksha was cracking a joke, but didn't really feel like bothering him. He did seem pretty busy with his spear.
He allowed himself to fall into a companionable silence with the Yaksha, admiring his quick work in polishing his weapon. He sighed as he leaned on the ledge, pulling out his lyre to tune it. It was already tuned, really, he just didn't want his hand to feel empty. Which, he admits, was pretty dumb of him.
Their silence didn't last for long with the thoughts that plagued Venti's head. He pried his gaze away from his lyre and cleared his throat in order to get the Yaksha's attention. The Yaksha shot him a glance. "I met someone today. Someone uncannily similar to me."
The Yaksha had silently set his spear to the side and turned to face Venti, leaning on the ledge in a similar fashion to the bard. He remained silent, which Venti took as his cue to continue on. He was grateful for Xiao's silence, it made it much easier to compose himself. Laying out his thoughts were much harder than he had initially thought. It always was.
"He was a drunkard, an adventurer, he spoke of tales of the Mare Jivari. The tales he told were larger than life, almost impossible. Yet the people took it with stride, holding him on a pedestal for his heroic deeds." Venti sighed. "We found out he was a fake, but we went along with it. We couldn't crush the spirit of the adventurer he had taken under his wing."
Venti had propped himself onto the railing, balancing on the wood as he continued somberly. He ignored the pointed look Xiao was giving him. "We found him at a tavern, calling out his own name, or so we thought. He had called on for his friend. The real Stanley, the one who died at the Mare Jivari."
"Survivor's guilt?" Xiao had supplied, to which Venti had only nodded.
"I sort of… blew my cover a bit, you know? Fetched the soul etched into him, allowing him to relieve himself of his grief. As an archon of my people, I try to make their lives as free as the winds." Venti held onto the lyre in his hand, shaking ever so slightly.
"I wish...I wish I could've given that to him too, you know? The ability to live in freedom, without the confines of those dreaded walls." Venti stretched out his arms, and allowed the wind to hit at him. If tears began to pool in his eyes, then he pretended it was dust from the wind irritating him.
The adeptus stilled for a moment, allowing Venti's words to sink in. He sighed before he clambered onto the ledge with him and gently tugged the former down. He allowed Venti to stay closer than usual, he seemed like he needed it.
But these stories that I write remind me that I'm not alone
"What did your friend see? Before they died…" Xiao stiffly placed hand on Venti's back, rubbing circles, allowing the former to relax a bit.
Venti swallowed. "A sky. A cloudless sky beyond the barrier the Decarabian had erected. I wish he could've seen more."
(Debris was scattered, the winds torn, the people anxious and wounded. But when the sky opened up to reveal the clear blue beyond, the people's worries had faded away.
The bard's vision blurred as tears welled in his eyes. They had done it. They had won. And for him, that was more than enough. He said it was more than enough, but Barbatos couldn't accept it.)
Xiao fell silent once more, mulling over a response. Venti's eyes were prickling with tears, his bottled emotions overflowing. The vulnerability of a being who had lived for far longer than he has, the trust put into him. It was a tad bit pressuring. With a sigh, he replied. "He died in victory. Your friend must've been content. He won freedom for all of Mondstadt."
Venti blinked away his tears, a bitter chuckle spilling from his lips as he breathed in the nightly Liyue breeze. Was his friend truly content with dying in such a way? Was he content to see the sky and only that? Even thousands of years after Venti couldn't seem to accept his friend's sheer embrace of death, as if welcoming an old friend.
"Your friend's death was peaceful. It was without regret. I can say this with certainty." Xiao continued, capturing Venti's attention. The Yaksha usually spoke in a very brisk and abrupt manner, this change of pace was unheard of in all his years of late night visits. Though Venti couldn't claim he knew the Yaksha well, his visits were few and far between.
"What my fellow Yaksha's saw before their karmic debt consumed them was red. A sea of red, blood from their own, their comrades, the life around them. Red was the colour that adorned their entire being."
It was Venti's turn to be taken aback, unable to cohesively string words to reply. There was no good way for him to reply.
"Your friend told you to see the world on their behalf, didn't they?" Xiao asked, to which Venti replied with a soft smile.
"They did."
"Then honour it. See the world on their behalf. You're honouring them by wearing their face, by doing the things they loved, but they never told you to do any of those. They just wished for you to see the world, and hoped that through you, they would experience it too." Xiao had said with finality.
For the first time in centuries, Venti allowed the tears in his eyes to slip.
Hopelessly, longing for
"For a Yaksha who claims to only live through the art of war, you're awfully knowledgeable." Venti remarked shakily, sniffling a bit as he sidled closer to the adeptus. For once, Venti had allowed his own walls to fall, allowing himself to be free. Free of the past, free of his role as an archon. He was just...Venti. A bard with an odd alcohol tolerance, who shot a bow in the most incorrect way possible.
"You can say that this comes from experience." Xiao bluntly replied, not rejecting the sudden closeness between him and the archon. Intimacy had been foreign to Xiao, but he would allow this. He knew how much Venti needed it, and if he were being honest, he needed it too.
A love I've never known
Venti rested his head on Xiao's shoulder, placing the lyre he had back on his belt as he allowed the warmth of another to consume him. A comforting embrace that he loved to get lost in. He hadn't had this for over 2000 years. And to think he once had this on a regular basis. The memory made Venti tremble.
Xiao squeezed his shoulder.
Take my words
"I've lived for so long, yet I've never truly experienced this. Such company…is foreign." Xiao said with a miniscule smile.
Venti chuckled as he nuzzled into the adeptus. "If it isn't unwelcome, then I'm all yours."
He allowed himself this. For once in his life as an archon, he took the initiative to be selfish. He took instead of gave. Was he overstepping his boundaries? Venti wasn't sure. But for once he felt boundless. The words he had spoken to Dvalin seemed to apply to him too. What is freedom if demanded?
As he nestled into the Yaksha's embrace, he allowed his thoughts to bleed into the wind. He allowed them to bring it to the people, to coax them to sleep, to advise them in their days. As he allowed himself to shed an infinitude of tears in the arms of another, he sighed, content.
After all, he finally had a label for the emotions he had felt all those years ago.
Not ashamed to say that great poets are made of unrequited love.