Work Text:
In hindsight, you should have known better than to accept a drink from Venti.
“So, where did you say you found this wine again?” You ask tentatively as you watch the god of freedom busy himself filling your spare mugs with alcohol. Just a few minutes ago, you’d been enjoying a late dinner of Wanmin’s takeaway with Paimon after a long day of commissions when there’d been a knock on your door. Thinking that it was perhaps a door to door salesperson of Liyue, you had intended on politely sending them on their way so you could turn in early for the night. It’d been a long day for you, after all.
You had not expected to open the door to the Anemo Archon of all people, looking ridiculously out of place in Liyue with his bright green silks and lyre, toting a mysterious looking bottle and a carefree grin. To say that you were shocked by his sudden appearance would be an understatement.
Still, uninvited though he was, you couldn’t deny that you were glad to see Barbatos doing well after you’d left Mondstadt a few weeks ago. With the assassination of Rex Lapis and interference with the Fatui, you’d been far too occupied here in Liyue to organize a proper trip back for a visit. Just thinking about the Knights of Favonius and the free spirited people back in Mondstadt brought a smile to your face.
“Oh, Jack from the Adventurer’s Guild gave it to me after I got him out of a pinch with some hilichurls,” Venti slides your cup over to you with the grace of a seasoned alcoholic before he begins to fill his own. The flask in his hand looks foreign to the ones in Mondstadt, made of silver and decorated with elaborate designs. Perhaps it really is a rare alcohol? “He said it’s a special from Snezhnaya! After my little falling out with the Cryo Archon, I haven’t had the chance to have a drop of Snezhnayan alcohol in the last five centuries.” He gives the flask in his hand a shake and a dreamy look. “I’ve almost forgotten what it tastes like.”
You give Venti a look over the rim of your cup. “She sent one of her Harbingers to rip your Gnosis out of your chest and you call that a little falling out?” Next to you, Paimon huffs angrily as if she wants to say something, but her mouth is currently stuffed to the brim with grilled fish skewers. She clearly hasn’t forgotten how Signora turned her into a ball of ice and sent her flying. “And the thing you’re concerned about is the alcohol?”
“Traveler, you must understand that as much as I love Diluc’s dandelion wine, I cannot simply keep adding things to my tab at the Angel’s Share. It just wouldn’t be fair to the bartender and the rest of the staff who work there,” Venti very confidently explains. At his words, Paimon swallows the food in her mouth to mutter, “Well, that’s never stopped you before…”
“And thus, I decided to bring this precious bottle of Snezhnayan alcohol all the way to Liyue to share with my favourite Honorary Knight!”
Used to Venti’s fanciful language (occupational hazard of being a bard for centuries, perhaps), you surmise that he probably just felt bored and wanted a reason to visit. You glance into your cup with a sigh. Unfortunately for you, you do have a soft spot for the free spirited god, so you suppose you can at least entertain a cup before you kick him out for the night.
“I recall Diluc telling me something about Snezhnayan alcohol before…” Something about… regret? Menace to society? Holding the cup up to your nose, you take a slight whiff of the liquor and almost choke as your nasal passages burn. Paimon squeaks in alarm. “Are you trying to feed me kerosene?”
“Of course not, this is precisely what it’s supposed to smell like! Well then, bottoms up!” With that, Venti clinks his mug with yours and downs his drink in one go. Horrified, you stare at him with wide eyes. You know that he has an ungodly (or in this case, godly?) alcohol tolerance, but this is some form of hard liquor, isn’t it?
“Woah!” Venti beams at you, looking so gleeful he could probably start sparkling at any moment. “That tastes just as divine as I remembered-” his words are cut off when he descends into a fit of hiccupping coughs. All you can do is sigh and shake your head.
“Hey, Tone Deaf Bard isn’t going to die of alcohol poisoning on the spot, is he?” Paimon nudges your shoulder, looking uncomfortable. “We’ve already been under suspicion once for killing a god and Paimon doesn’t wanna go through that again.”
You grimace. “That would be difficult to explain to the Millelith, wouldn’t it?” Glancing over at the Anemo Archon hunched over your dining table, you reach over to give him a little shake by the shoulder. “Need some water? Maybe Jack gave you some cheap knock off that’s unsafe for consumption...”
“No, no, it tastes fantastic! Not a single thing is wrong with it!” Finally managing to calm down his coughing, Venti clambers back into a somewhat respectable sitting position with much effort as you look on, unconvinced. At your dubious expression, he gestures at the cup in your hand. “Really, try it! You’ll only know how good it is if you taste it yourself!”
“Uh huh.” Looking down at the clear liquid in your cup, you could almost mistake it for water if it weren’t for its overwhelming scent. You make up your mind to ask Diluc about it the next time you’re in Mondstadt. Next to you, Paimon floats away with her tiny hands clasped over her eyes.
“Paimon doesn’t want to see this…”
With that vote of confidence, you take a mouthful from your cup and immediately feel like you’ve been punched in the mouth by a lawachurl. A Stonehide one, for that matter. “What on Teyvat is this?” You manage to cough out. “Diluc wouldn’t touch this with a fifty foot pole...”
“I don’t really remember the name, but it’s a famous drink in Snezhnaya.” Venti informs you, already pouring himself a second cup. “It’s said that the locals drink it even more regularly than they do water, because it warms you up even in the frigidest of winters! Don’t you feel it? A tingling warm growing in your body, like a blossoming Flaming Flower?”
Now that he does mention it, after the initial shock passes, you do feel a slight warmth stirring in your belly, spreading all the way to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It’s a numbing, pleasant sort of heat, one that reminds you of gathering around a campfire in the snow, or being wrapped up in a thick blanket on a snowy day.
As you help yourself to another mouthful, Venti launches into a lengthy update of all the latest things that have happened in Mondstadt since you’ve been gone - from how the Dawn Winery’s most recent harvest has surpassed that of every year prior to the stray cat that had shredded his socks last week. The more he speaks of these simple, mundane things, the more nostalgic you feel about Mondstadt. By your fifth mouthful of alcohol, you’re already seriously planning a trip back to the City of Freedom in your head.
You’re about halfway through your mug when your throat begins to feel dry. Still absentmindedly nodding along to Venti as he continues recounting his tales, now stories from his days wandering Mondstadt as a bard, you make to stand, intending on fetching the water jug from the kitchen. However, the second you do, the entire world lurches violently and you’re forced to sit down, clutching onto the table in an attempt to stay upright. Venti looks up from recounting his thirty-seventh tale.
“Traveler, what’s wrong?”
Vaguely, you can hear Paimon’s squeak of alarm in the background. As much as you appreciate her concern, the high pitched sound bounces painfully around in your skull and you have to stifle a groan. You press your forehead against the table top in hopes that will stop the strange, lightheaded sensation coursing through your body. “Dizzy… and my body feels hot...” You mumble, slightly stunned by how your words are tripping over each other. You’re no Kaeya, but surely you’re not as much of a lightweight as Diluc. “Venti… just how strong is that drink?”
Venti’s expression turns nervous. “I’m not actually… sure?” Paimon puts her head in her hands in despair. “The last time I drank it was five centuries ago, so-”
“Should Paimon call for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour?”
“Paimon.”
While you do feel like you’re approaching the verge of death, you’re quite sure that you won’t be needing any burial services from Hu Tao any time soon. Its consultant, however, would surely know of a way to help you feel better... With a groan, you resign yourself to suffering in this position until the morning comes. There’s definitely no way you’ll make it to the bed without throwing up all over your nice clean floor.
“Paimon’s gonna go to the Bubu Pharmacy to look for help,” your floating travel companion swoops down to yank at Venti’s cape, tugging him towards the door. You’re tempted to tell her that it isn’t necessary, but you can’t quite muster up the energy for anything other than a weak groan. “Since this was all your fault, you’re coming with me, Tone Deaf Bard!”
“I am innocent!” Venti protests as Paimon hauls him out of the door. He makes a grab for his flask on the way out but misses, and just like that, your little abode in Liyue falls silent once more. Although you’re relieved to have some peace and quiet, being left alone to stew in your own discomfort isn’t the most pleasant experience either. All you can do is close your eyes and hope that you won’t have a raging hangover when morning comes.
“Traveler? Traveler, can you hear me? Did you die on Paimon?”
It feels like you’ve barely gotten any rest at all before you hear Paimon’s shrill voice once more, back from her visit to the Bubu Pharmacy. The sound knocks on your skull like a hilichurl on a war drum. “Too loud, Paimon…” you mumble, burying your face in your arms as if that will block out the noise. You catch some hushed whispering from Paimon, to Venti, most likely. Grateful that she’s heeding your requests to keep her volume down for once, you close your eyes once more, intent on sleeping properly till morning this time. Before that can happen, however, you feel a gloved hand come to rest on top of your head.
One that is most certainly not Paimon’s or Venti’s.
“It reeks of wine in here,” a rich, low voice ripples through the air, soothing to your ears in its familiarity. But what is he doing here? “That bard has just been through here, hasn’t he? That drunkard is a disgrace to the arts.” There’s the clink of metal against wood, a slow inhale, and then a sigh. “As I thought, this is Snezhnayan Fire Water, a strong vintage at that. Only Barbatos would be irresponsible enough to share something of this potency with a mortal… I will have some stern words with him.”
“No wonder why Tone Deaf Bard vanished the second we saw you at Chihu Rock,” Paimon grumbles. That explains the lack of words on Venti’s part. “Well, what do we do now? Paimon doesn’t know how to deal with a drunk person…”
I’m fine is what you want to say, but what comes out of your mouth is more of a slurred, unintelligible grumble. Embarrassing, yes, but it appears to have been enough to catch the attention of the two in your house.
“Traveler, are you awake?” You crack open an eye to see Zhongli standing next to you, and sure enough, it’s his hand gently resting on your head. Zhongli’s lips tilt upwards slightly. “That is good. Do you think that you will be able to make it to the bed? Sleeping at the table all night will be bad for your back and neck.”
Since it’s Zhongli asking, you muster up the remaining crumbs of your will. When you try to stand, however, you end up swaying dangerously on the balls of your feet, your head swimming. Before you can stumble, Zhongli reaches out to take you firmly by the shoulders and guides you against his chest so that you can lean against him. Your nose is filled with the subtle scent of musk and petrichor. “Careful, now.”
“Sorry,” you mumble against the material of his coat, loathe to leave this position. He’s as firm as the element he holds dominion over, and you’ve never felt more secure than when he’s holding you like this.
“There is no need to apologise to me,” Zhongli says soothingly, before he turns to Paimon. “Paimon, would you head over to the Bubu Pharmacy and purchase a few stalks of violetgrass on my behalf? Dried, fermented ones would be best for some sobering tea.”
Paimon flies a couple of nervous circles before hovering over your head, a sign that she’s worried. It’s sweet. “Of course Paimon could, but...” she begins, arms crossed over her chest. Seeing how reluctant she is to leave your side, Zhongli reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small red pouch. From the way its contents clink nicely, it’s probably filled with mora.
“You can keep the change, Paimon,” Zhongli coaxes, and Paimon frowns, pouting so fiercely at the bag of Mora in his hand that you feel a laugh tickling your throat. She looks like she’s putting every bit of effort into restraining herself. “On my honour as the God of Contracts, I promise that I will take good care of the Traveler, so you needn’t worry about a thing.”
At his words, Paimon considers this for a few moments before she grabs the bag of Mora with a huff. On her way out of the window, she turns to glance back at the two of you, hands on her hips. “If you break your promise, Zhongli… even if you’re a god,” Zhongli only smiles at her when she waves a tiny fist at him, “Paimon will make sure you face the Wrath of the… the Wrath of the Paimon!”
With that fearsome declaration, she zips out of the window, leaving you and Zhongli alone.
Zhongli laughs softly and the sound washes over you, pleasant and calming. “It seems that Paimon is very concerned about you,” he says. His hand shifts to your shoulder to steady you properly. “Come, let us get you to bed now.”
“Right.” You can’t stay in this position forever, as much as you’d like to. “Give me a moment, I can get there myself-” your words are cut off into a gasp when you feel your feet suddenly leave the ground, an arm hooked under your knees and the other cradling your back carefully. “Z-Zhongli! You don’t have to…”
“Nonsense.” Zhongli glances at you. “You can barely stand upright, and I did promise Paimon that I would take good care of you. Were I to break my word,” his amber eyes twinkle with the slightest hint of mischief, and the sight of it takes your breath away, “I would have to face the Wrath of the Paimon. Surely you would not knowingly subject me to that?”
You wouldn’t have guessed that the venerable Rex Lapis had a playful streak. Perhaps something he’s unknowingly picked up from the director of the funeral parlour, you think, slightly amused. “Alright then. Thank you, Zhongli.”
He carries you to your bed as if you weigh nothing more than a mere feather in his arms, careful not to jostle you when he sets you down on the straw mattress. Although the bed is comfortable, you instantly miss the feeling of being in his arms. “Give me a moment.”
He returns a few minutes later with a cloth slung over his arm and a wooden basin filled with water. The sight of him holding such mundane, household items almost makes you smile - Zhongli looks out of place in your tiny house like this. Shedding his rings and his gloves, Zhongli places them on your bedside table before he moves to soak the cloth in water. His hands are as elegant as the rest of him, long, tapered fingers stretching and flexing to wring out the cloth. “I’ll place this on your forehead,” he tells you, leaning over to brush your hair back. His own hair slips over his shoulder, the ends tickling your cheek. “It should cool you down, so that you feel more comfortable.”
“Thank you,” you say again. True enough, the damp cloth is wonderfully cool against your heated skin, and you sigh happily the second it touches your forehead. You feel as though you’re being spoiled a little too much with Zhongli’s meticulous care, but surely, it can’t be bad to indulge yourself in something as sweet as this? Perhaps it’s the drink that has loosened your tongue or how comfortable you feel in his presence, but the words flow from your mouth as easily as water. “Zhongli?”
“Yes, Traveler?”
“Could you stroke my hair for me?” you ask, blinking up at him. Already, your eyelids are starting to grow heavy, the beginning of a yawn tugging at your lips. “Just until I fall asleep.”
There’s a slight pause for a heartbeat, and then you see him smile. “Of course I can.” His hands, now unhindered by leather, begin to run through your hair with rhythmic, methodical strokes. It’s almost inexplicable how that simple touch brings you such peace, and within a few minutes, you’re fighting sleep, torn between succumbing to rest and wanting to enjoy more of Zhongli’s attention. When will you ever get an opportunity like this ever again?
Zhongli must notice your struggle, because his fingers still temporarily in your hair. “Go to sleep now,” he says, his voice a low hum. “I will be here when you wake.”
You can barely keep your eyes open much longer, but you fight to mumble out a ‘promise?’. Zhongli only smiles, that gentle, serene curve of his lips that you’ve grown so fond of seeing.
“Promise.”
His word given, you finally allow your eyes to slip shut, drifting off into the world of dreams as Zhongli watches you. When he’s sure that you’re fast asleep, he straightens up and pulls the blankets over you, making sure to tuck in the edges so that you don’t catch a cold. Although your body is resilient, used to sleeping on the road during your travels, he thinks that you could afford to let yourself live a little more comfortably. As he adjusts the blanket at your shoulders, he hears you murmur a name softly.
“Zhongli…”
What dreams are you having that involve him? Although he cannot accompany you to the realm of sleep, Zhongli finds himself hoping that they are only pleasant ones. Mortals sleep for about six to eight hours every night, so there will be more than enough time for him to brew some hangover tea before you wake. As for the other matter at hand…
Glancing out of the window, he moves to pull on his gloves, adjusting them so they slip comfortably onto his hands. There is a certain bard whom he needs to have words with.
“The journey to Mondstadt will take but a moment.”