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Venti’s day went as usual.
His second year in high school wasn’t as exciting as he’d hoped, but at least he had orchestra and drama club to lighten the load of his academic classes. Today wasn’t unlike any other day, in which he pranced through the halls on steps as light as air. He waved at his friends and acquaintances as he passed them in the hall, bounding towards the door. The day was finally over—He hadn’t even skipped any classes, which was a big accomplishment.
No matter how loveable the little musician was, his habit of slacking off and avoiding responsibility was always going to be a stain on his reputation, no matter how pristine it seemed. His teachers, at the very least, could not ignore his enthusiasm for creativity… if nothing else.
Venti began his walk home, a bounce in his walk as he hummed a tune he’d hashed out only a few hours before. His violin case swung beside him, fingers tight around the handle. He felt giddy today; he felt almost powerful.
In fact, Venti’s day was so usual, that he almost didn’t notice when it became unusual.
“Venti,” A ragged voice pulls him from his melodies, causing Venti’s eyebrows to furrow as he turned toward the sound.
He’d made it almost home already, just a few houses from his front door, but the figure calling to him was unmistakable. Venti halts, his violin idly swinging next to him. Crouched beneath the streetlamp was none other than his childhood friend—Covered in blood.
“Xiao!” Venti calls out, rushing to Xiao’s side. His violin case hits the ground with an unsettling ‘clunk’ and so do his knees, fingertips immediately finding Xiao’s face and pulling his head up to look him in the eyes. “What happened to you?” Venti murmurs with a frown.
The unfortunate thing was that the sight of Xiao covered in blood and bruises wasn’t an uncommon one.
Venti doesn’t think Xiao means to be a delinquent. He’s just—Sometimes he says the wrong things to the wrong people, or he says the right things, but they get terribly misconstrued. He used to be so full of life and shared the same love of music that Venti did… But that was a long time ago. They aren’t kids anymore. Venti feels sympathy for him. Venti feels… something for him.
“Same as always,” Xiao mumbles under his breath, leaning into Venti’s touch. He slides his tongue across his lips and winces when he tastes his own blood, only half-dried from his split lip and bloody nose. It was bad today.
Venti ‘tsk’ s disapprovingly and then sighs, leaning back on his ankles. Xiao opens his eyes all the way, and it makes Venti hesitate to pull his bag back onto his shoulder. Those big amber doe-eyes, with long dewy eyelashes—Eyes that met Venti in his dreams, eyes that Venti has written a thousand verses about but never sung aloud. His breath catches in his throat, and he’s barely able to get it back before a cough stutters in his chest, and he’s forced to look away.
“Come on,” Venti stands, pulling his bag back up onto his shoulder and grabbing his violin case. Xiao takes the hand outstretched to him, and Venti tries to pretend he doesn’t notice the broken skin around his knuckles. Xiao wasn’t one to take a beating without a fair fight.
“Did you break something?” Xiao’s raspy voice seemed a little hoarse today.
“What?” Venti asks, “I wasn’t the one in a fight, you know—”
“Your violin,” Xiao clarifies, “You dropped it, didn’t you?
Venti’s ears heat up a little bit. Sometimes he gets so in his head about things—How they are, now, and not how they were —that he forgets Xiao hasn’t changed all that much since they were kids.
He still remembers the times when they’d stay out later than they were allowed, clammy hands gripping each other firmly as they trampled through the grassy areas of the woods near their houses. When they were younger, they’d spend every waking moment with each other. Breakfasts were taken in the garden, Venti drizzling his fluffy pancakes with maple syrup and Xiao picking the yellow dandelions from the grass.
“For a crown,” Xiao had mumbled when Venti asked why he was ransacking his mother’s lawn. Venti didn’t know what that meant. How could he possibly make a crown from a few weeds? A few minutes later, his question was answered when Xiao presented him with it—A circlet of bright green and yellow. It was intricate and skillfully put together; Xiao must have been practicing.
“Lean down,” Xiao told him, and he did. Venti hadn’t forgotten the way Xiao blushed when he looked at Venti wearing the flower crown, the way he fiddled with his fingers nervously.
When Venti thinks of Xiao, that’s the memory he likes to think of the most. Because he knows, deep down, beneath all the blood and bruises and useless high school brawls, Xiao is still that blushing little kid he knows best.
“Yeah, I did,” Venti replies after a beat, keeping a lilt in his voice so as not to stress Xiao out any further, “I sure hope nothing’s broken, that would be a tragedy for sure. Though… You always liked the flute better than the violin, didn’t you?”
And there it was again—Even when Xiao tried to cover the side of his face with the bit of uneven hair poking from behind his ear, Venti caught glimpse of his blushing cheeks.
“Yeah,” Xiao’s voice grows timid now, his steps shuffling beside Venti as they approach the steps to his house. “I guess.”
“Come on,” Venti hops up the first step, waiting for Xiao before he enters his house, “I’ll clean you up.” ‘ Like always ,’ he doesn’t add.
Xiao follows, casting one last glance to the sky before ducking in.
The weather had gotten gloomy on the walk home—The street lights flickered halfway on to illuminate the walkways and roads, storm clouds hovering overhead but not quite letting the rain fall yet. The sky had been so clear in the morning, Venti almost missed his first class because he was too busy basking in the breeze and sunlight on his walk (or skip, rather) to school.
Xiao had been in Venti’s house hundreds of times. Possibly thousands. He slipped his shoes off at the door, well aware that no adults were going to be home for at least another month. Venti’s parents were wild spirits just like him, out traveling the world, and only stayed home for a short amount of time before they were off again, soaring somewhere new.
Venti wishes he could say he wants to do the same. Some part of him really does want to—But he has an anchor. He glances at Xiao, who slips in the bathroom and sits on the side of the bathtub, pushes his hair off of his forehead for a moment to catch the sweat there. Venti follows the movement with his eyes and watches how Xiao’s dark hair briefly gets tangled in his long fingers before pulling his hand away. His black painted fingernails are chipped, Venti notices. Yes, he has an anchor. An anchor that’s far too big for him to pull free from.
He swallows hard, then follows Xiao into the bathroom, running a towel under the sink.
“What happened this time?” Venti sighs as he wrings out the cloth, then kneels between Xiao’s legs to get a better angle on the wounds littering his face. “Another misunderstanding? You need to learn how to be kinder with your words, Xiao, not everyone can tell what your intentions—”
“It wasn’t that,” Xiao grumbles, careful not to jerk his chin too much as Venti swipes the cool cloth against the blood dried there. It flakes off, and Venti’s eyes flicker up to meet Xiao’s for a moment, seeing the honesty in them.
“Then…?” Venti hones in on a particular spot above Xiao’s eyebrow, cleaning another wound. He brushes gently against the hair on his brow. The question Venti was trying to ask gets caught in the air, but Xiao seems to know what he means anyway.
“They were talking shit about—” Xiao stops himself, and his shoulders bristle slightly. “ Someone. ”
Venti glances up again, but Xiao’s eyes are cast aside to the wall instead. Venti frowns, cleaning the blood from his nose and then down atop his cupid’s bow. Then his attention is on Xiao’s lips, and his mind wanders a bit before he realizes exactly who Xiao is talking about.
“There’s only one person you’d defend like that, isn’t there?” Venti asks quietly, his heart thrumming anxiously in his chest.
The atmosphere suddenly shifted when Venti understood what Xiao meant. He was a boy of few words; Venti had seen him mature slowly, then all at once, when they entered high school together. His loyalty never shifted, he just became… distant. Withdrawn. Venti knew that he was somewhat of a recluse due to his social misgivings, but he supposes high school was Xiao’s downfall. He’d barely talk to anyone except Venti and occasionally Zhongli—But he was a third year, and he had graduation to worry about. Not to mention his boyfriend, who… Well, his flaws would need a few extra pages. Needless to say, he and Xiao don’t get along very well.
For some reason, the thought of Xiao standing up for Venti makes him feel happy . His crush had gone on for far too many years for him to still feel his pulse race whenever Xiao was this close to him, whenever Xiao spoke his name with care and softness instead of apathy, which his usual words were soaked in. Yet still… Here he was, nerves and excitement all bundled into one.
Xiao’s lips part and Venti’s gaze is drawn to it. Still bloodied, his split lip is mostly dried, the pieces of skin already pulling together. Venti feels Xiao’s breath on the tips of his fingers, warmth against the coolness of the air.
“Venti,” Xiao whispers, and Venti just about falls apart.
“Nevertheless,” Venti tries to cut the tension, but the quiver in his voice prevents him. “Don’t do it again, I’m sure that person would rather be shit-talked than see you all beat up like this, yeah?”
“ Venti, ” Xiao says again, and the hand pressed against the top of the bathtub next to him is suddenly on Venti’s chin, pulling his gaze up. Venti’s slightly taken aback for a moment, and his cerulean eyes widen as they meet the gaze of Xiao’s honey-laden ones.
Venti’s lips part subconsciously in mimic, the hand with the rag hanging in between their faces, wet and bloodied. Xiao’s face looks a lot better now that he’s cleaned up, but the cuts still look nasty. Venti needs to bandage them, except…
Except the way Xiao peered into Venti’s eyes made him believe he was trying to say something. Something Venti couldn’t understand just from his words. His free hand finds its way to the side of Xiao’s face, brushing aside his bangs to see the beautiful pink dusting that adorns his cheeks.
“I’m serious, Xiao.” Venti sighs—but it’s more of an exhalation, relief.
“So am I,” Xiao responds, and the palm of his hand cups Venti’s cheek instead of his chin, the rough and cool skin a stark contrast to the smooth and warm surface of Venti’s face.
“Abou—”
“I’ll never let anyone,” Xiao cuts Venti off, his voice unwavering, “ anyone , talk bad about you.”
Venti can’t breathe.
It feels like the Earth stops turning for a little bit as Venti drowns in Xiao’s words. It’s the first time in a long time that Venti’s heard him speak with such confidence.
“No matter how beat up I get.” Xiao doesn’t stop, and Venti feels like he might melt and fall right through the cracks in the bathroom tiles. “You’re the one thing… The one thing that I—”
“I know,” Venti gasps, his thumb twitching from its place against Xiao’s skin. “I know , Xiao.”
“You know?” Xiao’s voice is so low that Venti almost doesn’t recognize it.
“I do.” Venti takes a shaky breath. “It’s the same for me.”
And then the hand on his cheek is pushing up, Venti’s fingers split around Xiao’s ear as he leans forward.
The first thing Venti notices about kissing Xiao is that he tastes like metal—like blood, he realizes—and the second thing he notices is that his lips are softer than the rest of him.
It’s not his first kiss, but he wishes it was. He wishes he’d saved the stupid party games until after this very moment, wanting to wash away all the games of “Truth or Dare” and “Spin the Bottle” his giddy theatre kid friends always started at cast parties. Kissing Xiao wasn’t anything like kissing Diluc, or Zhongli, or even Lisa…
Kissing Xiao was like eating your favorite fruit— the feeling of wanting to savor every last bit. A selfish feeling.
They kiss until they run out of breath, and then Venti pulls away, his forehead pressing against Xiao’s as they both try to regain their stamina. Xiao brings a hand to his lip.
“Ow,” He mumbles.
“Oh, sorry!” Venti exclaims, then immediately presses the wet cloth back to his lip instead.
Xiao almost rolls his eyes, gently pushing Venti’s hand away.
“It’s okay,” He murmurs, leaning closer again, “I prefer this.”
And then they’re kissing again, and Venti almost forgets to close his eyes this time. He grins against Xiao’s lips, dropping the towel on the ground and craning his neck far enough to reach him comfortably. His hands drop to press against the top of the bathtub on either side of Xiao’s hips, leaning into him.
Xiao cups the back of Venti’s head, readjusting the way their lips slot together, and Venti feels a vibration run down his spine. His world feels like it’s tilting, he feels like he’s falling headlong into a whirlpool of something he doesn’t know how he’ll get out of. Except… The world actually is tilting, and he actually is falling headlong, and—
Before Venti realizes it, he’s crashing into Xiao, who’s crashing into his bathtub.
All tangled legs and awkward angles, Venti’s chin digs into Xiao’s chest and they groan uncomfortably. And then Venti starts to laugh. He hoists himself up by his arms and hovers over Xiao, a sparkling smile spread wide across his face. Xiao could only return the gesture with a small, timid grin, careful not to injure himself more.
“You’re a dork,” Xiao tells him.
“And you’re clumsy,” Venti replies, then pulls Xiao in by the back of his neck and presses their lips back together.
Xiao’s hands find their way to Venti’s waist, and Venti realizes (not for the first time) how strong they are. He relishes in the feeling of Xiao’s body against him, almost forgetting for a moment that they’re lodged sideways in his bathtub, because Xiao is holding him so tenderly and he’s doing that thing with his chin that makes Venti’s lips part, and oh.
Venti pulls away, breathless, and ignores the string of saliva that connects their bottom lips. Xiao feels like the world. He feels like the shallow breaths that bloom in Venti’s chest as he pants, regaining his composure, his eyes shaking from their daze and refocusing to meet Xiao’s. His pupils are blown wide and Venti can only assume his own are the same. They stay like that for a little bit, nose pressed against nose, lips just barely touching while they inhale and exhale shakily. Xiao’s hands are on Venti’s bare waist now, pushed up just slightly under his shirt, and Venti is very aware of the feeling of skin on skin.
“We should…” Xiao starts to say, but his voice comes out weak. He clears his throat, and Venti nods.
“Get out of the bathtub?” Venti finishes for him, punctuating with a giggle.
Xiao breathes out, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. (Venti likes that look on him.) “Yeah.”
A few awkward shuffles and stumbles later, Venti pulls Xiao out of the tub by his arms, his thumbs lingering a little too long on his wrists. He tosses the damp rag that had been discarded on the floor into the sink, making a mental note (that he was bound to forget) to clean it up later. For now, Venti tugs on Xiao’s hand and pulls him into his room, eager to spend more time with Xiao that wasn’t in a bathtub.
Xiao being in Venti’s room isn’t anything new, not by a long shot, but now… something has shifted between them. The thing that usually shifts when you go from being platonic best friends to best-friends-who-sometimes-make-out-in-bathtubs. Venti swears Xiao is holding his breath when he glances at the walls, even though nothing has changed since he was here a few days ago.
Pale blue walls, with art and letters and origami taped from the walls and strung to the ceiling. Standing lamps with mismatched lightbulbs that are either a little too warm or cold, a vintage bedspread with floral patterns, and a music stand in the corner with a few too many music books adorning the ledge. Venti’s room was the subtle sort of beautiful you’d only find under the bridge of a babbling creek, or when you’d look out the window of a plane during sunrise. The feeling of comfort, the feeling of home.
Venti shuts his bedroom door, and when he looks at Xiao, he’s looking right back, those eyes framed with long eyelashes peering deep inside him. He raises an eyebrow at Venti, almost quizzically, and Venti can’t help a small giggle at the incredulous look on his face.
“What’s that look for?” Venti asks, grinning.
“It’s just…” Xiao starts, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous before, is all.”
“That’s not true!” Venti exclaims in protest, slinking onto the bed and curling his legs underneath him in a perfect arc. “I’m nervous all the time around you. And before performances, too—Remember the night before my first solo recital?”
Xiao tilts his head, then awkwardly sits down next to Venti, their knees ever so slightly brushing.
“You didn’t seem nervous then.” He shrugs. “You never seem nervous. You’re just so…”
Xiao trails off, and Venti nudges his knee with his own. “So… what ?”
“Lifelike.”
Venti frowns. “Of course I’m lifelike. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“That’s not what I meant, I mean—” Xiao sighs and runs a hand through his hair, then turns toward Venti. Their eyes meet for a moment and then he shies away, opting to look at Venti’s nose instead. “You’re always so vibrant. Lively , I mean.”
Venti feels the blush creep up his neck, and he can’t help but smile slightly. “You’re a romantic, Xiao,” He says through his grin.
“I’m not,” Xiao bites back with a pout, but there’s no malice in his words.
“I pushed you into my bathtub and you just kept kissing me. If that’s not romantic, then I don’t know what is.”
“Stop—Stop that…” Xiao’s ears were bright red, and he could no longer look in Venti’s general direction, directing his nervous gaze out Venti’s window.
Venti leans the side of his body into Xiao’s, then presses their palms together, letting himself quiet down for just a moment. He was overjoyed, and yet… Yet he was calm, too. He felt like a little kid who’d gotten the birthday gift he always wanted, or a cold treat on a hot day. A sense of nostalgia and relief all at once. Xiao’s arm shifts to accommodate Venti, holding him around the shoulders. His fingers slip under the sleeve of Venti’s T-shirt and Venti exhales against Xiao’s neck.
“So…” Venti starts, “Do I get to do that all the time, now, or…?”
Xiao shifts, glancing down at Venti’s expression. “Push me into the bathtub?”
Venti rolls his eyes, then shakes his head with a playful smile. “No, do I get to kiss you all the time?”
Xiao’s lips part, his cheeks darkening further. He’s speechless for a little bit, and then his free hand finds Venti’s and their fingers thread together. “If you want,” He says just above a whisper.
At that, Venti squeezes his hand and tilts his chin up, and kisses the very corner of Xiao’s mouth.
They’re silent for a while. Venti feels the way Xiao’s chest rises and falls between them, doing nothing but sit against each other, both staring at nondescript points on the wall across the room. It was nice like this, hand in hand, head on shoulder, just being there in that moment.
“Do you remember…” Xiao breaks the silence with whisper-soft words, “When we were kids, and we’d play in the garden?” He doesn’t wait for Venti’s reply. “I’d make you crowns out of dandelions.”
Venti’s smile softens, getting a reminiscent look on his face. He hesitates before he responds, fingertips ghosting on Xiao’s knuckles, thinking of how they used to be stained yellow after weaving those crowns for him. “That’s my favorite memory of you.”
The red in Xiao’s cheeks doesn’t stop him from continuing, for once. He clears his throat and says, “Sometimes, when I’m upset… Or frustrated… And I feel like—Maybe nothing can go right,” He pauses, then detangles his fingers from Venti’s and reaches in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small film of sorts, “I press my thumb into this.”
The film is a few pieces of tape layered over one another, concealing a wilted, dried dandelion between the pieces. It’s brown instead of yellow, the green stem shriveled to a thin line. It almost looks fragile, despite how long it’s been shoved into Xiao’s pocket. Venti touches it with tentative hands, the tips of his fingers gliding across the smooth surface of the tape.
“Xiao, this is—”
“Let me… Let me speak,” Xiao interrupts Venti quietly, and Venti is too shocked to try and argue. Xiao was usually one to let Venti steer the conversations, let him be the one to voice everything… But if Xiao wanted to speak, he’d let him. Venti sits back against the headboard of his bed, the preserved flower tucked into his palm. “I think I knew back then. When we were kids… I knew how I felt about you.”
Oh. So this is a confession. Venti chews anxiously on his lower lip, letting his nerves run haywire.
“I wanted to give you pretty things,” Xiao motions to the preserved dandelion resting in Venti’s hand, “I wanted to give you more than that. Everything. I wanted…” He stops, taking a shuddering breath inward, “It killed me when we stopped doing the things that kids do. Ever since I met you, Venti, you’ve been my family.”
And then they’re quiet. Venti lets those words hang in the air between them for a while, permeating every inch of his room. He has a fleeting thought that maybe Xiao has been his family all this time too—Not the very few blood relatives that barely cared about Venti’s existence—Xiao. The one person who’s always been by his side, to hold his hand, to crown him king of the dandelions. Venti’s lip quivers, and he can’t help but rush forward, pulling Xiao into a hug by his shoulders. Venti hangs off of him, feeling Xiao’s tentative hands move to cup his waist.
“I love you too, Xiao,” Venti murmurs against Xiao’s neck.
“B-but I haven’t even said—”
“I got the message.”
Venti exhales slowly, comfortably, when Xiao’s strong arms situate around his hips, feeling the way his head rests right next to Venti’s. For good measure, Venti thinks, Xiao says it anyway.
“I love you.”
And then they’re just there. Just existing with each other for that moment. For a second, Venti almost thinks he can feel the pinpricks on his ears, the tickle of golden dandelions in a circlet across his forehead, messy knots in the stems pulled tightly around his braids. He grins, pressing his face deeper into Xiao’s neck.
Venti’s day went as usual, until it didn’t. And for once, he thinks, he’s okay with the abnormality of it all. Because now he has someone. Xiao, who he’s allowed to kiss any time he wants—Xiao, who keeps a dandelion in his pocket—Xiao, who didn’t care that he was pushed into a bathtub because all he cared about was kissing Venti—Xiao, who is his family.
And for Venti, that’s enough.
Xiao presses a kiss to Venti’s temple, and murmurs something sweet that Venti’s head is barely clear enough to hear.
Yes, he thinks, it’s quite enough.