Chapter Text
Xiao “met” Venti on a windy September afternoon.
“Met” in quotation, because Xiao was absolutely positive he had seen the boy before.
The studio was quiet but for the steady brush of charcoal against canvas. The room was slowly dimming as the sun’s rays weakened, shadowing slightly behind the line of trees encompassing the arts building. Xiao glanced at the crooked clock above the doorway; class had ended an hour ago, and it was nearing evening sooner than he thought.
On the other side of the room, half obscured by the sea of easels scattered across the room, a detailed sketch was slowly coming to life on a wide sheet of paper. Xiao quietly observed his classmate. One of the few who ever stayed behind while the rest of the class hurried to depart, his attention hardly wavering, his hand never stilling. Albedo, Xiao recalled—quiet, prepared, and talented. His work always so precise. Unique. Beautiful and thrilling.
It was hard not to compare his own work to Albedo’s.
Xiao’s eyes drifted back to his own canvas, layered with tangled lines and smudged marks. The assignment was simple enough: find an object with meaning, and express that meaning. Xiao was not bad at art, per se. But conveying an abstract feeling, an indecipherable emotion—this, he could not understand.
He closed his eyes. Opened them. Quieted his mind, and brought his pencil to paper.
And his internal quietude shattered with the sound of voices echoing down the hallway and into the art studio.
A boy’s laugh, bright and melodious. And, as it approached, another laugh, too, followed by indistinguishable words—did Xiao recognize its gentle timbre? He frowned at his canvas.
Albedo seemed to react to the voices as well, which Xiao noted curiously. Albedo, intensely focused, diligent. Not one prone to distraction. So Xiao watched from his peripheral as Albedo gave his piece another lookover, quietly set down his charcoal, and stood up.
A quick, subtle knock, and the door to the classroom swung open. Only a peep at first, and then fully, bringing with it a draft that fluttered between the scattered scraps of paper on the floor and threatened to knock loose, paint-stained paper towels off their workstations. Albedo cleared his throat and Xiao looked up fully now, flicking between his now standing form and the visitors at the door.
Through the easels separating him from the other side of the room, Xiao glimpsed a head of tousled blond hair, styled in a waist-long braid. Fair skin framed by a dark crop top and cuffed pants. A familiar appearance, and a familiar voice.
“Aether,” Albedo greeted from his corner of the room as the boy came into Xiao’s full view. “I assume lab ended early.”
“I figured you were still in here,” Aether replied warmly. “Venti and I were on our way to dinner, if you want to join. But if you’re busy—”
Aether stopped as Albedo shook his head and bent down to tuck his sketchbook neatly into his messenger bag. “I was just wrapping up. It’s getting late, regardless.”
There was a movement behind Aether, and he stepped aside to let someone else into the room. The wooden easel frames obscured most of him, but when he spoke, his words sounded like a song.
“How intriguing,” the boy said. “I’ve never been up here before. There’s a lot to look at.”
Aether hummed thoughtfully in front of Albedo’s canvas. “A flower.”
“Most observant,” said Albedo. Xiao could hear his wry smile without seeing.
A quip from Aether too quiet for Xiao to hear, and that other boy laughed again. Xiao’s curiosity finally triumphed.
Slowly, he leaned sideways. And saw him.
Soft, delicate features framed on either side by twin strands of braided hair, dyed blue at the tips. Windswept black hair under a bright green beret. An equally green cardigan over a white blouse. Somehow, the bright palette of his wardrobe—which was, in itself, quite noisy—tied together in a playful dance of colors. Xiao thought it brought out his eyes. Wide and a vibrant green-nearing-blue.
Those eyes flitted toward Xiao.
In an instant, Xiao was turned away, hidden from view.
Venti. That was the name Aether had spoken. It burned itself in his mind.
Xiao lifted his charcoal back up to his canvas, and resumed his work. He drew a line. He drew another line, frowned at it, and wiped it away. His fingers were coated in dust; it did less to erase the mistake than to smudge it deeper into the taut fabric beneath.
“What’s yours?”
Xiao whipped around in his stool, wide-eyed.
The boy called Venti stood beside him, a respectful distance away. Xiao hadn’t heard even a breath of his approach—he seemed almost to have simply materialized out of thin air. His bright, curious eyes swept across the canvas before locking onto Xiao. Words scattered apart in Xiao’s head like disturbed seeds of a dandelion.
For a moment, he could only stare. With a gentle smile, Venti patiently waited. In the golden light of the setting sun, his eyes seemed to twinkle like stars dancing across the sky.
Xiao swore he had seen those eyes before.
To buy time, Xiao cleared his throat. “It’s, uh….” He looked at his canvas. “It’s a mask.”
It’s a mask. His words echoed in his empty head. Behind him, Xiao heard a quiet sound from Albedo that he suspected was borne of amusement. He suppressed the urge to turn in his seat and shoot his classmate a glare.
“And what does this mask represent?” Venti asked. Xiao looked back at him. He was staring now at the portrait with a sincere thoughtfulness that Xiao doubted the warranty of. His eyes flicked from one component to the next, following some flow of movement that had yet to exist.
Xiao spent a solid ten seconds searching for words. For his part, Venti waited patiently, shifting his gaze from canvas to Xiao to canvas. “It’s… supposed to represent isolation.” He paused, gathering words. Gods, it sounded so stupid aloud. But the eyes of the mask, empty, still yet to be filled in, watched him silently with no betrayal of emotion. “Masks are made to hide behind,” he continued slowly, “but if no one is wearing it, what is it to hide? It’s purpose is unfulfilled. Or… something like that.”
Venti hummed thoughtfully. “And in that way, a mask unused is the loneliest mask of all.”
Xiao swallowed. “I guess.” He waved his hand dismissively, shook his head. Tried not to feel so… embarrassed. A useless emotion. Why he felt it now, he did not know. “I just needed something for the assignment. It’s all made up, anyway.”
But, looking at the mask on the canvas, and the mask on the table beside him, he wasn’t so sure.
Venti’s gaze continued to track the canvas, trail the lines of charcoal running into each other. Xiao was not accustomed to having anyone look so keenly at his art, aside from his professor. Xiao was objectively intimidating; this, he knew well. It was evident in the way the other students tiptoed cautiously with their critiques. The way they directed their thoughts at the professor rather than facing Xiao themselves.
After a moment, Venti’s face broke into a grin. Directed entirely at Xiao. “Well, for what it’s worth,” he finally said, tilting his head. His braids swayed with the movement, as if touched by a breeze. “I think you’re nailing it.”
Xiao was not a talkative person by nature. This, he knew. But something about Venti’s words, the way he stated them with such confidence and sincerity—it threw him. He was grappling in midair, suspended over a sea of muddled responses, unsure where to land.
Venti kept smiling regardless. His eyes shined even in the dimming light of the room. And he held Xiao’s gaze so steadily.
“Thanks,” was all he could manage.
He knows those eyes.
“Venti,” called Aether. If Xiao was not locked securely in place by those eyes, surely he would have startled straight out of his seat. Their eye contact broke as Venti widened his gaze at Aether and Albedo.
And there it was again: that sing-song laugh, like the beginning notes of a sweet tune.
“Sorry, sorry.” Venti adjusted his bag, tightening a hand around its fraying strap. “Coming!”
He backed away, slowly at first, facing Xiao with his mouth ready to speak—and then he smiled again, wiping away whatever words lay in there. And then he was bounding off.
Xiao shut his eyes for a moment.
As the other three began their retreat from the studio, Aether spun around on his heels. “Hey, Xiao.” Xiao opened his eyes. “Do you want to join us for food?”
Xiao frowned—not at them, but at the invitation. “I don’t eat with company.”
Whether or not this was of his own will, or because of his untimely eating schedule, or his overly stingy food preferences standing off against the equally stingy dining hall offerings; Xiao did not care to join others for meals. But there was a quieter reason, too: very few had ever offered. The only people he had gotten food with at any point during his two previous years at university were Zhongli and Ganyu—his roommate, and the only friend from high school he stayed at all in touch with.
“Ah, right,” Aether said, waving apologetically. This was not the first time Xiao had declined his offer. Xiao recalled his fruitless attempts last year, when the two had lived in the same dorm for a semester. “Well, the offer is there if you ever change your mind.”
And with a warm smile, mouth and eyes both, he turned around to keep up with an efficiently moving Albedo. Xiao began to relax—solitude, once again.
“See you around, Xiao!”
Venti’s final departing words rang in Xiao’s ears, stilling him once again. And then he was alone in the room, with only his painting to keep him company with its empty, isolating stare.
—
It seemed, after that singular encounter, that fate had decided it was time to establish a new routine.
Xiao could not escape running into Aether.
And, by extension, he could not escape running into Venti.
The first few times were inconspicuous and incidental, and possibly had occurred a number of times prior to Xiao’s notice of the duo. It was passing by in the dining hall—a quick hello from Aether and Venti, an awkward nod from Xiao, curious stares from the others circled around their table. It was crossing paths on the way to class via one of the busier routes during peak transition times. It was spotting each other across the hallways of the arts building, just long enough for a flash of a handwave and Venti’s bright grin.
And then it was consistent to a point where Xiao could no longer write it off. Almost, it seemed, to the point of deliberation. Running into Albedo around the dormitory was typical enough—Xiao had surmised long ago it was his residence as well. Often it was with Aether in tow—also fairly common. But now on occasion, Venti would be following behind them, chatting easily as they went. Every single time, Aether would give a quick wave, Albedo would nod tersely. And every single time, Venti would call out his name in the wind with a smile like the sun.
Most notably, Aether and Venti now commonly entered the art studio post-session. Primarily, it was to pull Albedo from his work before he forgot to attend to his more basic needs. But every single time, they greeted Xiao warmly. Every single time, they left in the same manner: with an offer to Xiao to come with them. And every single time, Venti would have the last word, with that promise to Xiao:
“See you around!”
—
It was two weeks into their repeated attempts that Xiao finally broke.
The dining hall was bustling with activity. This was not unusual, especially at noon on a Tuesday; Xiao’s limited eating window of the day seemed to concur with that of roughly the entire student body. Normally, Xiao would do his best to avoid so much as stepping foot inside. Whether this meant sacrificing mora to eat elsewhere, or skipping the meal altogether—Xiao detested the idea of weaving through crowds of people just to search for the elusive quiet corner with an empty table.
But Xiao had not eaten much more than a bowl of almond tofu over the last thirty hours, and sugar could only take one so far.
Body protesting and mind damp with exhaustion, Xiao scraped whatever food he could tolerate into his bowl. It wasn’t much; a meager scoop of rice topped with a slice of burnt meat and a few soggy vegetables. Xiao grimaced as he shoved past groups of students clustered in the middle of the hall. The tables closer to the food lines were predictably crowded, and though it thinned out the further away he went, there were still too many people. Too few options. Xiao debated simply bringing his meal elsewhere. He might have even considered scarfing it down as he walked and heading straight to his next class.
The call of his name behind him cut through his thoughts. Xiao turned and roved his eyes around the room; they landed easily on one particular table by the windows, occupied by three familiar figures.
“Xiao,” Aether called again, waving his arm widely and gesturing beside him. “We have an empty seat.”
Xiao stood still. Part of him—the part rooted in habit and stubbornness and introversion—tempted to resist the invitation once more. No one would be surprised, least of all Aether. It would hardly be any different than the growing number of futile offers.
But as Aether spoke, Xiao’s eyes locked with another’s. And suddenly, that part of him lost its foothold as another rose in its place.
Venti stared at him, eyes wide, eyebrows high, and broke into his signature smile.
Xiao was exhausted, and his eating window was narrowing rapidly. It would only be for a few minutes, he rationalized. Just this once, he would entertain them.
Venti’s eyes tracked Xiao as he drew towards the circular table and slowly set down his bowl. Xiao tried to ignore it, dispel his increasing self-consciousness. His chair scraped loudly against the tiled floor as he slid himself between Aether and Venti.
“Hey,” Aether greeted, and Xiao murmured a returned greeting. On the other side of Aether, across the table, Albedo’s gaze flicked up in acknowledgement before returning to the heavy textbook before him. One of his hands blindly jotted messy notes into a thick journal, while the other absently stirred a half-eaten bowl of softened cereal.
Beside him, Venti angled himself towards Xiao, resting his chin on one hand.
“And the elusive Xiao finally graces us with the gift of his presence,” he said in sing-song. He gave Xiao a lookover and hummed. “You look a little worse for wear.”
“Venti,” Aether hissed.
Xiao grunted dismissively. He did not mind the truth. “That obvious, huh.” He picked at his food and took a small bite. His stomach was twisting slightly, and his chopsticks trembled in his hands.
He had to stop doing this. It was the third time this month that he had skipped over an entire day’s worth of meals. He often wondered how accidental it truly was. Sometimes, he simply forgot—ignored his hunger for so long his body gave up on reminding him. Other times, he simply refused to eat. His reasons varied.
“So, Xiao,” Aether said, eyeing his tentative hand. Xiao dug his chopsticks into his bowl. “How’s your day going?”
“Busy.” Xiao grimaced and forced a decently sized bite down his throat. The dining hall vegetables often swung wildly between soggily overdone and severely undercooked; the textures combined awkwardly between his teeth.
After a beat, in which Xiao continued silently prodding at his food, Aether continued: “You know, I never did learn what you major in. Are you an art major?”
Xiao frowned. Majoring in art? He could never make a living off that.
“No.”
Aether smiled and pressed forward. “So what do you major in?”
Xiao sighed. His major was nothing special—all Xiao needed out of university was a degree of some sort.
“Stats.”
Aether nodded with an Ah and shoveled a forkful of pasta into his mouth. The table was quiet for a moment. Xiao had never been one for small talk; he hardly saw any point in irrelevant conversation, and it seemed there was little else to discuss. It wasn’t as if anyone knew Xiao well enough to mention anything substantial.
Or so he thought.
Before Aether could continue prodding Xiao, Venti broke in. “I noticed you began painting over your sketch,” he said. “I like the color palette. Black contrasted with sharp greens. A fitting choice for your piece.”
Xiao noticed then Venti’s outfit. The green hat was absent, but he was wearing that same oversized cardigan he’d had on that first day in the art studio. It was a lighter green, reaching turquoise, made of a softer material than Xiao had initially expected. He wore a darker blue button-down underneath, decorated with lace at the collar.
“Green is one of my favorite colors,” Venti said. “The color of nature. Of leaves in the breeze, swaying against the sky.” He sighed. “And, of course, blue. That’s a favorite, too.”
Xiao glanced at the braids framing his face. “Never would have guessed,” he remarked.
Venti laughed, and for some reason, Xiao could not turn away.
Across the table, Aether pointed a finger at Venti, eyes narrowed. “I caught that.”
“Heh,” said Venti. “Thought I got away with that one.”
Xiao knit his eyebrows together. Aether and Venti both laughed now. It bemused him further.
“Venti is a compulsive rhymer.” Aether rolled his eyes, at which Venti dramatically scoffed. “You don’t notice it at first, but eventually, it gets to you. Eats away at you mentally.” He shuddered. “So I’ve set up preventative measures.”
Xiao’s frown deepened. “Like what?”
“A rhyme jar.”
A rhyme jar?
The question must have been loud on Xiao’s face, and so Aether continued: “For every rhyme he says, Venti has to put a quarter in a jar. As penance for his sins.”
“Is it… really that bad?”
“Yes,” said Albedo. His eyes stayed glued to his book. “It’s worse when he’s drunk.”
Venti pouted. “You’re taking Aether’s side? It is not that bad—”
“It is,” Aether averred.
Venti turned away indignantly. “An attack on my self-expression! I’ll remember this transgression.”
Oh. It really was that bad.
Aether extended a hand. “And that’s another quarter in the rhyme jar. Pay up.”
To Xiao’s surprise, Venti dug into an inner pocket of his jacket and procured two coins. With his tongue stuck out, Venti dropped them into Aether’s palm and shoved his hand away.
Aether smiled merrily, tucking the compensation into his own pocket.
What an odd duo, Xiao thought idly.
A phone buzzed on the table with a notification. Briefly, the screen lit before Aether picked up his phone, but not before Xiao could glimpse the time. Five minutes until his next class.
He stared down at his half-finished meal. It would have to do for now.
As Xiao sighed, gathering his dish, Venti watched him. “Leaving already?”
“I have class.”
At this, Venti brightened. “Oh, what a coincidence,” he said, setting his utensil down. “So do I!”
Xiao stood up, and Venti stood up with him.
Oh, Xiao thought.
“Mind if I walk with you?”
Xiao glanced around the table. Neither Aether nor Albedo seemed raring to go, and merely looked on, words of departure clearly waiting on their tongues. He looked at Venti, who looked back at him. Again, Xiao was stuck on how familiar those crystalline eyes were, but too distracted to wrack his brain for an explanation.
Xiao shrugged and turned away brusquely. “Fine.”
—
The air outside was the kind of warm that hinted at an oncoming chill. Xiao was grateful for it, as he was less fond of the heat—though in honesty, it was hardly any concern. Weather in this part of Teyvat was predictable in its cycle through the seasons. And Xiao, for his part, was practically immune to all of it.
Beside him, Venti bounced down the staircase leading to pavement, his faded messenger bag jostling against his hips. As if to balance the warmth of his sweater, he wore high-waisted shorts colored a cool-toned black that blended well with the rest of his appearance. Xiao watched as Venti’s gaze lifted to the sky, a light gust of wind swaying his braids. The trees lining the curved path were still green; the sun’s seasonal weakening had not yet taken its toll.
Venti hummed a light tune beside him as they walked. It sounded slightly familiar; perhaps Xiao had heard Venti hum it before?
And so he asked, and Venti replied: “Ah, you probably have. It’s an audition piece for the upcoming musical!” He beamed. “I’m going for the lead role.”
The upcoming musical. Xiao vaguely recalled seeing several posters dotting the halls in the art wing, though he had not paid them much mind. So Venti was a theatre kid, then. That… checked out.
“Is that your major?” he asked, genuinely curious. He knew Venti to be around the art building quite often; he’d passed him enough in the halls to have concluded that he studied some kind of liberal art.
“Heh, was it not obvious?” He twirled to face Xiao then, braids swinging. “I wanted to major in music, too, but it turns out the schedules aren’t super compatible.”
He walked backwards, facing Xiao, as they conversed. Xiao learned that Venti started out undeclared, juggling courses from both majors, before finally settling on one. In turn, Venti learned that Xiao had no real interest in statistics, but didn’t mind the work, so long as it meant getting a degree. He already had a security job, and he was likely going to remain in it post-college, but it didn’t hurt to have a backup.
Or so had Zhongli advised him when he handed Xiao that security position years ago. Xiao did not divulge that part.
The sun was pleasantly warm against Xiao’s back. He listened as Venti told him more about his first semesters, how he stayed enrolled in music ensembles after the switch. How he could play multiple instruments—the flute, the lyre, and more. He watched as Venti gently kicked at a small rock with his foot, let it skid a few feet away, kicked it again as they went. Something about the act was almost childlike. In many ways, Venti was childlike—curious, carefree, open. There was an innocence to him that Xiao almost didn’t know how to approach. Xiao, whose years as a child were spent in a state that did not allow for such traits to develop within himself. It was… odd. Fascinating, in a way.
Mesmerizing.
They paused as the path before them split into two. Venti turned to him, fiddling with a small feather charm hanging off the zipper of his bag, stalling.
Xiao caught his drift. “Is this where we…”
“Go our separate ways?” Venti finished. Xiao watched his slender fingers idly stroke the smooth metal of the charm, dulled and discolored from years of such contact. He could so easily imagine his fingers dancing across the strings of a lyre, fluttering against the keys of a flute.
Those fingers let go of the feather charm, and Xiao snapped his eyes up to meet Venti. He felt suddenly sheepish.
“My class is that way,” he said, nodding to the left, “so.”
Venti stared at him for a moment, mouth open. Xiao waited. Mentally, he could feel time ticking by; he valued punctuality more than most, and already he was pushing it. But he stayed rooted in place. Waiting for Venti to choose his departing words.
Instead, Venti looked down and reached into his pocket.
“Before you go.”
He held something out to Xiao. It took him a few seconds to process it—he blamed his sluggish, nutrient-deprived brain—but slowly, he reached out.
Venti’s phone screen was lit up brightly against the sun’s rays, just enough for Xiao to see. He paused.
“What are you…” he started. He did not finish the question; the answer was obvious.
Xiao gently took Venti’s phone fully into his hand. Stared at the screen, frozen.
“It’s where you put your phone number,” said Venti.
Xiao looked up from the contact entry and fixed Venti with a dry stare. “I can see that.”
Venti giggled, returning the gaze with twinkling humor. After a moment, his smile softened. “If you don’t want to, though,” he said with sincerity, “that’s fine. No biggie.”
He reached out slowly, but before his fingers could touch his phone, Xiao held it properly and began typing.
It was pointless, really, Xiao thought—he wasn’t much of a texter, hardly checked his notifications on a normal day. He and Venti barely knew each other. He couldn’t imagine why Venti would even want his number in the first place. Yet his fingers continued to move.
But it was just Venti, Xiao figured. There was no real reason not to.
He held the phone back out to Venti. Venti scanned the screen. Then looked back up at Xiao. “You forgot something.”
“Huh?”
Venti stepped closer to him, one arm extended out, the other forming a peace sign. Xiao frowned at the phone, its screen now facing the both of them, front camera on display.
“A photo?” He looked at Venti, who looked at him, grinning wide.
“Yep! You okay with that?”
Xiao felt his face heat. He wasn’t really one for photos. Couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been in one. It wasn’t out of discomfort, or self-consciousness, exactly—he simply had no reason to photograph himself. And no one had ever asked.
“Uh. Sure.”
Venti laughed and leaned in closer, angling the camera to capture both of them. Xiao watched in the screen’s display as Venti closed one eye in a wink, grin lopsided. He felt a nudge in his side.
“Smile!” Venti said through his own.
Xiao did not smile, but he did his best to relax out of his frown. The camera shutter snapped.
“Good enough,” Venti said, bringing the phone back down to appraise the photo. He giggled. “Cute.”
Xiao’s stomach somersaulted. Cute?
With that, Venti stepped away, readjusting the strap of his bag. He grinned brightly at Xiao.
“Well, better run to class before I’m late again,” he said, fingers twirling at his feather charm once more as he started down the rightward path, still facing Xiao. “See you around?”
They were the same words he always said whenever they parted ways. But somehow, this time, it felt… different. How exactly, Xiao couldn’t quite tell.
But this time, before he could stop himself, he finally responded.
“Yeah,” Xiao said quietly. “See you.”
And with another smile and a small wave, Venti left. Xiao watched as he went, braids swaying in time with the windswept trees.
When his own phone buzzed in his pocket, he knew exactly who it was. He pulled it out.
A text from a new number. A simple have fun in class! followed by a sparkling, smiling emoticon. Xiao’s heart raced.
Cute.
He had a lot to think about that night.