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Gala, honeycrisp, pink lady…
Aha! Fuji. Just what he's been looking for!
Venti adjusts the basket propped against his hip and reaches out to grab the reddest, plumpest apple atop the pile of fruit. His fingers brush against the smooth flesh of the tasty snack when he hears it, the name he hasn't been called in millenia.
"Barbatos?"
It takes all the willpower he's built up since his primordial inception to not drop the basket full of his weekly groceries.
Slowly, as if moving through molasses, Venti stands tall and turns toward the one who called to him.
His eyebrows raise into his hairline when he comes face to face with…
A… vagrant?
No, no—a once all-powerful, ancient yaksha, all dolled up in a terrible mall goth cosplay.
He struggles to keep himself from bursting into unrestrained laughter in the middle of the college town supermarket he frequents.
"Alatus," he manages to say without dissolving into a giggle fit.
"I—" The man dressed in all-black, with eyeliner smudged below his lash line and impeccably sharp red eyeshadow flared along his eyelids, coughs into a closed fist. A fist half-covered in fingerless fishnet gloves. "I still go by Xiao, actually."
Venti us about to burst at the seams. The punchlines are practically writing themselves at this point. Next Xiao is going to pull out his wallet, connected to his too-tight skinny jeans by a silver chain.
But he's an adult. He's thousands of years older than—than the invention of the platform combat boots on Xiao's feet.
So he presses his shoulders back and offers his brightest smile. "I still go by Venti, too."
"That's—that's good. Then." Xiao’s eyes slide to his feet, shift to the fridge full of some sort of health-craze dairy-and-meat substitute meals. "Um. It's good to see you. To know that you're…"
"Still alive?" Venti fills in when Xiao trails off. "Of course I am! As long as the wind shall blow, I shall remain."
Xiao gives him an undecipherable look. Something between disgust, outrage, and incredulity. The Xiao special.
"I'm surprised you're all the way here, in Mondstadt! I figured you'd stay in Liyue for—well, forever." Venti resumes his task of finding the ripest apples to tuck into his lunch bag in the mornings.
"I would have, if Zhongli hadn't—" Xiao cuts himself off. Over the several feet between them, Venti can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.
Venti pauses for only a moment. Waits for Xiao to continue. When he doesn’t, Venti scoops up two apples and shoves them into a plastic produce bag. "If Zhongli hadn't what?" he asks as nonchalantly as possible.
There's approximately one trillion and one things Zhongli—Morax, as Venti better knew him—could have done.
Died, for one.
Celestia above knows Venti hasn't seen hide nor hair from the one whom he (incorrectly) assumed to be his best and oldest friend.
They were, weren't they? Friends. Before they were anything else.
Before…
Before.
And even… during.
Can you stay friends with someone while also riding their brains out once a week? Can you, when you spend every free moment together, legs tangled up beneath blankets and whispering sweet nothings under the pale light of the moon?
Xiao clears his throat awkwardly, knocking Venti back into the present.
Right. Groceries. Modern times. Fluorescent light bulbs. An adeptus standing three paces away dressed head to toe in modern emo garb.
"If Zhongli hadn't, uh." Xiao shifts his weight to one foot. "Maybe… I shouldn't be the one who tells you."
"Tell me what, Xiao? Because I'm not sure you know, but no one tells me anything anymore," Venti snaps with far more bite than he'd intended. A middle-aged woman with graying hair and a crying toddler in her cart turn to glare at them. Venti sends her an apologetic smile.
Xiao sucks a sharp breath between his teeth. "It's just Zhongli and I. Left."
That has Venti completely losing his grip on the basket in his hands. His carefully selected items go tumbling across the waxed and cracked floor beneath his feet. An apple rolls across the distance between them, landing next to Xiao's shoe.
"As far as we know," Xiao says solemnly. "Everyone we remained in contact with has…"
Venti doesn't need him to fill in the blank.
It feels a little like deja vu. Back, during the time of the Traveler and the Dark Princess, when Barbatos and Rex Lapis were the last of the original Seven. When Xiao was the Last Guardian Yaksha.
When it was their solidarity that maintained their solitude.
"Y'know, it's weird hearing you say 'we.' Like you two are…" Venti squeezes out a smile he hopes doesn't look as pained as he feels. "A unit."
"We live together," Xiao says, a bit defensively. "That's all."
"Right." It's Venti's turn to clear his throat awkwardly. "Well, as touching as this reunion has been, I have a mess to clean up and an evening shift to get to, so if you'll excuse me—"
"He's a professor. At the local uni," Xiao blurts. "History. He—he teaches history."
Venti raises one eyebrow. "That suits the old blockhead. Leave it to him to find a gig where he gets paid to make people listen to him ramble."
Xiao snorts, a gross sardonic thing that reminds Venti of half-empty bottles of osmanthus wine passed around a campfire atop the peaks in Jueyun Karst.
"I'm…" Venti searches for the right word. The right way to describe the ball of pressure in his chest slowly, slowly unraveling. "...glad that you two are okay."
"Yeah, I'm—it's good to see you, Venti."
"See you around, maybe." Venti pinches a stray strand of hair between his forefinger and thumb. "And if I don't, I wish you all the best, Xiao."
Xiao nods, extends his hand in an awkward half-wave, and then he walks away.
He doesn't say I'll let Zhongli know you're alive. And Venti is grateful, even if he knows Xiao will probably tell the old man anyway.
A stranger with a red apron tied around her waist approaches Venti once he's alone, hands on her hips while she looks down at the mess of eggs and spilled rice all over the floor with a look that screams I don't get paid enough for this shit.
~~~~~
Venti doesn't live a glamorous life, all things considered. But it's comfortable, and he has loads of free time once he clocks out of the hellscape of the cafe where he managed to snag a not terrible job. His manager, Jean, is a nice enough woman who oddly resembles Jean Gunnhildr, the Dandelion Knight herself. She exclusively gives him afternoon and evening shifts because he was late to every single morning shift she gave him during his training.
His coworkers are nice, if not young—not just by his immortal standards. They're mostly college students trying to make enough money to buy weed at their silly house parties, an endeavor Venti fully approves of.
The customers are, well, customers but by and large their clientele isn't awful.
He has enough money to pay for his single apartment, cover all his bills, and even support his wine habits.
All in all, he's living the good life. Something about not having to worry if your dragon friend is going to be corrupted by an evil, basically unstoppable force and destroy the nation you built with your bare hands makes daily life feel oddly relaxing.
For the few days after his encounter with Xiao, Venti is distracted at work. And at home. And at the grocery store. And everywhere else.
There's a nagging, tingling feeling up the back of his neck at all hours of the day. Anticipation. Waiting, waiting for Zhongli to pop out of nowhere, poke his head around every corner and send Venti spiraling in a very sad and un-sexy way.
But that day never comes.
Eventually, the anxiety fades ever so slightly, only to be replaced by the hollow, sinking pit in his stomach that serves as a reminder of how alone he is.
Now, even moreso, knowing that there are… only three immortals left in the world, including himself.
Three is a very, very small number.
"Venti! Where are my three lavender lattes?"
Ah, right. Work.
"Coming right up, Jean!" he shouts over his shoulder and gets back to the espresso machine.
The rest of his shift goes by in a blur. It’s a typical Friday afternoon, if not a bit busy. He hears from a coworker, the one with the green hair and an array of ear piercings, that it's the last day of classes for the semester. Clearly that means cram week caffeination starts today.
Venti remembers the time he tried out college, during the mortal decade of extensive public drug use and music festivals.
Academia wasn't really his jam, suffice it to say.
He clocks out, dirty apron slung over his shoulder and messy bits of hair falling out of the French braid he'd so surreptitiously tied back at the start of the shift. He has a hot date with the new season of Love Island Australia that landed on Hulu, just waiting for him to get back to his apartment and pop open the extra large jug of dandelion wine he'd found on sale yesterday.
He bids his goodbye to Jean as he shoves the front door open with his hip exuberantly.
A little too exuberantly.
The door doesn't open as far as it normally does, stopping about halfway ajar.
Because Venti slammed the door into a random passerby, judging by the startled "Oof," that sounds from the sidewalk just outside the cafe.
Eyes wide with panic, Venti steps through the crack in the door and shuts it blindly behind him, apology on his tongue. "Oh my god, I am so sorry—"
"Venti?"
That deep, velvety timbre is familiar.
Achingly so.
It's been centuries—millennia—since he last heard that rumbly voice this close, close enough to rattle Venti's bones.
Venti trails his eyes up from the concrete he'd lowered his gaze to in his haste to properly apologize for hitting a random stranger. Slowly, slowly, he lets his gaze linger on the pressed slacks, the immaculately ironed, ruby-coloured button up that's—gods—rolled up to the man's elbows, perfectly exposing toned forearms Venti knows from experience feel incredible wrapped around—
"Venti," the man repeats, more a relieved breath than an actual word.
Venti's gaze snaps up to meet those golden eyes that glow like cor lapis.
Those eyes that are widened in shock, but alight with unbridled joy that Venti can recall only seeing a scant few times in his eyes before—in Zhongli’s eyes.
For once in his miserably long existence, Venti is rendered speechless. He swallows around the lump in his throat, desperately trying to form words but they refuse to materialize.
"Venti, I—" Zhongli reaches out an arm toward Venti, freezing up before his palm can connect with Venti's shoulder. He lets it hover for a second, slowly dropping it back to his side after a long stretch of silence.
Several people pass them by. Multicolored backpacks, hair tied back with the silken scrunchies that are making their fourth dreadful comeback, scuffed sneakers, ripped jeans all step around the two men staring at each other with an awkward four feet of empty space between them.
"Xiao told me he'd seen you around town," Zhongli eventually says. Quietly, like he's not sure he wants Venti to hear the words.
He does, anyway. "...Yeah, he, ah." Venti clears his throat, plasters on a small smile—the best he can muster in the situation. "He mentioned you were… here, now. Hehe, small world, isn't it?"
"Not nearly small enough if it took me this long to find you."
"Oh." The syllable is punched out of Venti's chest, ripped right out of his lungs without warning. "F-find me?"
"Of course I tried to find you. After everything that happened with the Abyss—" Zhongli's eyes sweep their surroundings briefly. His fists clenched at his sides. "We should talk somewhere more private."
That tingly feeling is back, except it's spreading down his neck, across his arms, all the way to his fingertips. "Y'know, as great as that sounds, I'm super busy—"
"Please," Zhongli interrupts, completely out of character. Well. Out of character for the Morax that Venti knew. Maybe it's not for this Zhongli that stands before him, history professor extraordinaire. "Please," Zhongli repeats. "One conversation is all I'm asking for. I… I'd hate to leave things the way we did."
"We didn't leave anything, if you'll recall." Venti clenches the apron in his hands so tightly he can feel the fabric strain against his nails. "You left. Left me. Without a word."
Zhongli winces at his harsh tone. "I deserve that."
"You deserve a hell of a lot more, if I'm being frank." Venti knows he's being immature. Petulant. That thousands of years—exactly how many he isn't sure, since the common calendar changed ages ago—have passed and he should probably forgive and forget, but he can't. More than anything, he doesn't want to. The mere idea of forgetting anything to do with the time spent on Morax’s company...
"I've always appreciated your honest nature." Zhongli sighs bodily, a deep crease forming between his furrowed brows. Just like when he'd mull over contracts, his signature seal floating over his shoulder ominously as he'd scan through every detail. "I understand it is far more leniency than I deserve after what I've done to you, but I beg of you, Venti. Please, I wish to talk to you. You aren't required to forgive me, nor do I wish to make excuses. I—" A soft flush spreads across Zhongli's nose, spills over his cheeks, tints the tips of his ears.
"You…?" Venti taps his foot impatiently.
"I've missed you. Terribly. Now that I have found you, Venti, I admit I selfishly do not wish to let you out of my sight again."
His traitorous heart thunders in his ears, loud as storms of old, beating rapidly against his fragile ribcage. The words are—they're sweet. Sickeningly so. Venti crosses his arms over his chest, crumbled-up apron ball digging into the inside of his elbow. "You've become a real smooth talker, huh?"
A whisper of annoyance passes over Zhongli's face, and for a second Venti can pretend it's like old times, when the archons of neighboring nations would bicker much to the chagrin of their immortal and mortal companions alike. "My intention is not to mislead you, Venti. I simply speak the truth."
"Is that a promise?"
"Pardon?"
"If I go with you—and that's a big if!" Venti huffs, "Do you promise you'll speak the truth?"
Zhongli furrows his brows in confusion. "Of course."
"The whole truth? Nothing but the truth?"
"Ah, you always did take to modern idioms with much more enthusiasm than I." Zhongli shakes his head with fond exasperation, features relaxing into their neutral state. "I swear to you, I will be the epitome of honesty."
Venti pauses. He knows he can just as well turn tail and go about his business, stomp back to his apartment and binge trashy reality TV and drown his sorrows (read: loneliness) in cheap wine. It would be easy. Arguably the better thing to do.
(Better for whom?)
Zhongli doesn’t move a muscle, still as the stone he once had dominion over. He lets Venti search his own steady gaze for several long, painfully long, moments.
He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, really, just that he can’t say yes yet. He’s still—mad isn’t quite the right word (boy, was he mad when he found out Morax hadn’t actually died, when he saw Zhongli in the flesh before—before—) but he’s something.
Hurt.
Hurt, maybe, is the right word.
Not only had Morax faked his death without bothering to let Venti know that he was completely fine, not only had he willingly given up his gnosis to the Tsaritsa of all people, he’d also run away without so much as a goodbye after their battle in the Abyss.
With all seven gnoses, no less.
“One condition,” Venti says. He watches as Zhongli visibly relaxes, shoulders dropping half an inch as he nods sternly. “I ask the questions. You answer them, and you say nothing else. Capiche?”
Zhongli’s eyes narrow into dangerous, amber-hued slits. “Venti, I must—”
“Take it or leave it.” Venti cracks a smirk. “I never was one to negotiate with the god of contracts, you know.”
“...If that is the way it must be, I agree to your terms.”
“Super.” Venti uncrosses his arms, shoving his apron into the back pocket of his jeans. “Your place or mine?”
Zhongli raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow at the phrasing. “While I would suggest my abode, I’m afraid that the cat may trigger your allergy.”
“You have a cat?!” Venti gasps in mock offense. “How dare you, Zhongli! You couldn’t get a cute puppy? You went straight for the cat?” WIthout any explanation, Venti starts walking in the direction of his apartment.
He gets a few steps away before he hears Zhongli’s undoubtedly very expensive loafers click against the sidewalk behind him. “It was an impulse decision by Xiao,” Zhongli says lightly, though there is a smidge of strain that swims in the undercurrent.
“Well, don’t get any cat hair on me!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Zhongli chuckles, the sound enveloping Venti in warmth he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
~~~~~
It’s not until Venti is fishing around for his obnoxiously over-charmed keyring that he thinks about the state of his apartment. Normally he’s quite uptight about keeping it spotless, but the last few weeks have been… weird.
He blames Xiao.
That freaky little emo dude.
Venti slots the key into the lock, but before he turns the handle he spins on his heel, finger pointed in Zhongli's face. "Promise you won't judge my cleanliness, I swear I'm normally pretty put together!"
"In the name of being honest, I cannot promise you that." The corner of Zhongli's lips uptick just a smidge. The bastard.
The sight of his smile, no matter how miniscule, sends Venti's stupid stupid heart into overdrive. "Fine." With that, he twists the doorknob and pushes open the door with a flourish of his hand. "Mi casa es su casa."
Zhongli takes a step inside with significantly less hesitance than Venti expected. He toes off his shoes in the entryway while Venti walks in behind him, shuts the door firmly and locks the deadbolt for good measure. Venti watches the way Zhongli's gaze roses over the apartment—takes in the empty wine bottles stacked on the counter by the sink, the miscellaneous fast food bags shoved in the gap between his too-small trash can and the wall, the numerous empty energy drink cans strewn about the coffee table.
"If you say something like 'how quaint,' I'll kick you," Venti says with a saccharine sweet grin on his face as he makes his way into the living room.
"Ah, how my shins quiver in fear," Zhongli deadpans.
The giggle that erupts from his throat is unbidden, but not unwelcome.
It almost feels like it used to, between them.
He can pretend, anyway.
"Sorry, I don't have any fancy tea or anything I can offer you. I, uh, have some hard seltzers and I think at least one Monster shoved into the back of my fridge."
Zhongli's face remains as impassive as stone as he gingerly takes a seat on the couch Venti found on the side of the curb a few years ago. "That's quite alright, Venti."
"If you insist." Venti offers a strained half-smile. He opens his fridge and pulls out that giant pink can and cracks it open, if only to give his hands something to do. He gulps down half of it in one swig, and only then does he feel quasi-prepared to have this conversation.
He may have put up a front, with the 'I ask the questions around here' bit.
Venti makes his way to the couch, plops into the seat cushion the furthest away from Zhongli.
Zhongli doesn't say anything. Doesn't even move a muscle. Like a stupid, tall, hot sack of rocks.
"So, uh…" Venti clears his throat, shifting so his feet are tucked under his thighs. "Xiao really picked an interesting modern aesthetic, didn't he?"
"Hm." Zhongli nods. He crosses one ankle over the other. "He did. He took a particular interest in, ah, punk rock when it became popular. He evolved alongside the genre and its followers."
"A-ah. What, um, does he do? Like, for work?"
Zhongli tilts his head. A tiny, barely noticeable glimmer of amusement lights his amber eyes. "Do you truly wish to ask me about Xiao?"
"Hey!" Venti playfully kicks Zhongli's thigh. "I ask the questions, remember?"
"I did agree to that, yes. I will refrain from further inquiries."
"Good." Venti pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin atop the ripped material of his jeans. "Where are they?"
Zhongli does not respond for a long moment. "...I presume you mean the gnoses. In which case, I'm unsure of their exact location."
Venti's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. The telltale simmering heat of pure unbridled rage boils in his gut. "You—you betrayed the Tsaritsa, your stupid contract, the rest of the Seven, me, and you—you lost them?!"
"I did not lose them, Venti. I'm affronted that so much time apart has tarnished your view of me so," Zhongli bites back, his own molten ire stewing in his harsh tone. "Cloud Retainer took the liberty to hiding them where she thought no one would ever find them, myself included. Per my final request as Prime Adeptus."
Oh.
Oh, oh, it makes so much sense now.
It was Zhongli's last act as a divine being working his way into retirement. His last heralding for the new age, the age of the mortals.
Of course.
Of course.
"Xiao mentioned you kept in contact with the other immortals."
"I—we did, yes."
"Including the other archons?"
Zhongli nods slowly, his hands balling into fists where they rest over his knees.
"I see."
Venti… doesn't know exactly what to think of that. Zhongli, presumably writing letters and sending them across continents via trained bird. Until the invention of the internet, when he probably painstakingly typed out emails to a dwindling list of immortal addresses. Did he ever text them, Venti wonders idly.
Meanwhile, Venti has been utterly alone. In the dark. Not a single peep. Not a whisper of his name riding the winds.
Nothing.
For years. Decades. Centuries. Ages.
Zhongli mentioned earlier his attempts to find Venti. Venti knows he hadn't made it the easiest. He's hidden under a number of various names through the years, different titles and occupations.
But never once has he left Mondstadt.
There was always a part of him, he thinks, that kept him here. A part of him that wanted—hoped he'd be found.
Alas.
It's impossible for Venti to hold prolonged silence against another. How could he, the one who slept for a thousand years because he was fatigued by making wine?
(Even if it hurts.)
So he does not dwell. His next question comes without the fragility of his last.
"How many degrees do you have?"
"Pardon?" Zhongli stiffens, blinking rapidly.
"I'm sure you have, like, a hundred! It seems like something you'd do."
Zhongli stares at Venti. Stares and stares and stares, until something breaks and the tension in his posture releases ever so subtly. A small smile, that softly entertained one Venti has been on the receiving end of too many times to count, graces his elegant features unworn by the Sands of time. "I currently hold 154, actually."
"Ah, I was so close!" Venti raises a finger to his chin, tapping his skin in thought. "What's your favourite food?"
Humming thoughtfully, Zhongli relaxes half an inch back into the worn cushions of the terrible red couch. "It pains me to admit I'm rather fond of terribly inauthentic Liyuen cuisine."
"Not specific enough."
"...crab rangoons."
"Pft," Venti snorts. "That suits you, somehow. Okay, okay. What's your phone number?"
Zhongli blinks. Once, twice. "Venti," he says, slowly, like rocks tumbling down a hill. "Do you not wish to ask me more… important questions?"
"You're really bad at letting me ask all the questions, Zhongli." Venti smiles lightly. "Besides, what's more important than catching up with an old…" he trails off, suddenly at a loss for the right word. "...pal," he decides on. Terribly. Lamely. Stupidly.
Zhongli stares at him like he's said the most ridiculous thing possible. Which, valid. "...Pals, yes. I suppose we were… pals."
Hearing the word pals coming from Zhongli is borderline comical. He would laugh if it wasn't the most awkward moment of his sad, sorry life.
"Venti, I…" Zhongli hesitates. Again. It's nothing like him, like the Zhongli whom Venti once knew. It's annoying, not knowing who the hell his supposed best friend has become.
"Since I'm so gracious," Venti says, dramatic flair floating high on his voice, "I'll allow you to ask me one question. Only one! You should consider yourself lucky, seeing as I've let your other two transgressions pass!"
"How generous," Zhongli replies, completely monotone. A sparkle of amusement twinkles in his eye anyway. "Though I understand if you do not… Venti, perhaps would you—"
Venti looks onto his companion patiently while Zongli struggles to find the words. It's a relatable struggle.
"I find I'm unable to convey what I mean eloquently, so I will simply… say it." Zhongli pauses, takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders. He looks like a boulder, Venti thinks. "As I mentioned earlier, I have missed you. Terribly, deeply. It—it was hard, for a very long time, to pretend I didn't. Though I have loved and lost many times before you and even since you, I… I find I cannot move on from you regardless. You have remained on my mind every moment since we parted ways."
Oh.
Oh.
And Venti thought he was the master wordsmith between the two of them.
Now, all the air has been punched from his lungs. All the articulate thoughts stripped entirely from his brain. All that remains is a lovestruck, sappy pile of goo.
"I understand things will not return to the way they once were, given how I have treated you. I firmly do not expect us to pretend I have not hurt you. Even so, Venti, would you be willing to be with me once more?"
Ah.
Ahaha.
That's…
"Be with you?" Venti asks, hardly above a whisper.
"In a romantic relationship, yes." Zhongli's lips twist into a frown—a pout, more like. "Though if you are not amenable to such an arrangement, I would be more than happy to be with you in any capacity you would allow. Including… pals."
I'll take Things I Did Not Think Would Happen On a Random Friday In December for $200, please.
To be entirely truthful—which Venti often is not with himself, especially in how he emotionally handles matters of the past—he doesn't know. It's one of the things he hasn't let himself think about for a very, very long time. The days of the archons have become something of a distant memory for him, though faded it is not.
And yet. Yet he hasn't entirely let go of Morax, either. He knows he hasn't. But he hasn't let himself think about it honestly, either.
He's always been an exceptional liar, most of all to himself.
He's been… happy isn't the best descriptor, he supposes. But he's been fine. Okay. Just dandy. Without Zhongli. Maybe it hasn't been the greatest time in his life, but he's been perfectly alright.
Of course, Zhongli had to come waltzing into his life once more, as soon as he was feeling perfectly laminar.
He doesn't know. Venti isn't sure. What he does know is that he's never been one to run away from something that required a leap of faith. When all else has failed him, the wind has always caught him.
This time is no different.
"I'm not the same as I was back then."
"Neither am I," Zhongli says emphatically. "I—I drive a sedan."
"Pft." Venti bites his lip to stifle the laughter that threatens to escape. "The great Morax who once threw stone spears from the sky, who molded the very landscape of Liyue—d-drives a-a sedan," Venti stutters out between giggles. "I-I bet it g-gets great g-gas mileage!"
Zhongli frowns, in that severe way that's always made Venti want to kiss his soft smile back into place. He crosses his arms over his chest. "It does indeed get excellent gas mileage."
"Your sense of humor hasn't changed one bit, you blockhead!" Venti allows a few more peals of laughter to bubble out of his mouth. Once calmed, he shakes his head lightly. "You never cease to surprise me, Zhongli! Spouting these flowery words! Pah, while I still smell like coffee beans and the oatmilk I spilled all over myself at work."
Zhongli smiles, and it sends warmth blossoming under Venti's ribs. "I've been cooperative answering your questions tonight, and yet you have not answered mine."
"Cheeky bastard." Venti grins. "If you want to kiss me so bad, just say so." He tosses in a salacious wink for good measure.
"I…" A light dusting a rose spreads across Zhongli's cheeks, nose. "I would not be opposed to kissing you."
"You're really something else, Zhongli." Venti grins so hard his cheeks hurt. "If I say yes, do you promise not to run away again?"
"I swear it. If you'll allow me to be part of your life again, I will do no such thing to throw away the opportunity." Zhongli sucks a sharp breath through his teeth. "Do you not wish to know why?"
"No. I think I know already. But next time you want to betray everyone in your life, at least let me know so we can run into the sunset incognito together, yeah?"
A wide smile, bright and brilliant and shining like a thousand shards of the finest noctilucous jade, spreads across Zhongli's face. "Of course."
[bonus]
"Hey, wait, isn't your birthday coming up?"
"Hm?" Zhongli peers over the top of his glasses. A stack of neatly stapled papers sits in front of them, all marked up to smithereens with red ink of divine judgment. "I suppose it is."
"What should I get you? A fancy pen? No, I know you have a favourite and whatever I'd buy you wouldn't be good enough. A fancy new coat? Nah, you have a closet full. Ooh, what if I made you a book of sexy coupons?" Venti rests his chin in his palms from his position laid out on the couch.
"I fail to see how coupons can be sexy." Zhongli considers for a moment. "Although I do suppose fiscal responsibility is a desirable trait in a partner…"
Venti snorts into his fingers "No, you doof. It's coupons for sexy activities! You know, like 'redeem for one blowjob.'"
"Oh." Pulling off his glasses, Zhongli tilts his head. Adorable. "Could I not simply ask you for one whenever I want?"
"Well of course you can. But this is like a fun sexy bit. I can write you ones for all the weird gross things you wanna do to me."
"Venti, if you think anything is 'weird' or 'gross' we don't have to do them—"
"Bah, forget it!" Venti childishly rolls over so he's facing away from Zhongli. "I'll just get you a gift card."
"I will treasure anything you gift me, dearest."
"Gross," Xiao interjects from his seat at the dining table across from where Zhongli grades his papers. "You two are fucking gross."
"Now, now Xiao-xiao, one day you'll fall in love and then you'll understand—"
"I won't hesitate to throw you out the window if you say one more word."
"Ah," Zhongli sighs airily. "How I've missed this."