Work Text:
a pleasant fun fact– nothing tastes normal paired with the taste of blood. somehow, even spit gets its own taste to contrast the blood. and it's fucking vile.
aether had to cope with this fact as he barely held himself together. the urge to retch, vomit , was so overwhelming; the metallic tang of blood on its own was enough to cause him to nearly reel. his stomach lurched , the world shook. he'd been digging his toes into the soles of his boots so intensely for so long that he must’ve ripped off enough toenail for blood to come loose all the way down there, too.
reality phased into consciousness, blurred and focused. blurred and focused. he couldn’t recall a single memory of the specific day. let alone even what month it could be. all he knew was the blood in places it shouldn’t be.
he wanted to scream, cry; to feel something externally. but the best he could manage was to keep biting his cheeks. his lips. to keep drawing blood into his mouth, to bring himself to his knees, albeit in a metaphorical sense. to fuel the infernal chaos at the back of his mind, to push himself so deeply into discomfort that he just couldn't fucking take it anymore.
he'd already won the battle. the monsters – or maybe, maybe men – before him had been torn apart. he'd panicked. gone too far. fear and agitation pushed him over the edge.
he… saw something maybe, something he was afraid of seeing. or maybe his distracted mind wandered into territory that'd set him off. he had no clue. he just knew that he was scared out of his mind. and that fear pushes him to slash and tear until everything before him came to a halt.
some traumatic force kept pressuring him constantly in the back of his mind. something that brought back all the pain. the suffering. something that usually manifested itself through a form of malaise; simply ignorable. simply a nuisance, something he'd be able to best. to overcome. as expected of a world-renowned hero.
the force tended to spiral into madness every so often. to the point he didn't know where he was. who he really was. you know, like past the name and face. past what others say you are. and that was how he was, in the moment. in the moment where he didn't recognize the creature he'd mutilated so brutally. in the moment where he didn't know if he was even loved. in the moment where the blood tainted his spit and the gummy texture of his mouth leaked blood.
what kind of sick god would curse him with this ailment? "psychosis", they'd called it in the more developed worlds he’d passed through. his symptoms, at least. he’d never dare consult anyone about these feelings. "madness", "insanity" they'd probably call it in a place like teyvat. a very typically human ailment. he didn't like that. he didn't want the finger pointed at him, he didn't want to be responsible for the way he'd lose his grip, for the horrible fate of his opponent lying dead in the grass. staining the strands of desaturated emerald a dark, sanguine crimson in the night's cloak of darkness.
he took a deep breath, it's happening again. it's happening, and he can't handle it. he wanted to scream, could scream, but was so terrified of negative attention. he was a hero. a savior . a saint. a kind, loving, human, sweet, gentle person. nobody could know that he was capable of leaving such a mangled, defiled corpse in the trail of blood and sword. he was better than that.
and so he kept the misery deep inside, caged, on a short leash. he would suffer for his wrongdoings. it was his fault "it" happened anyways – "it" pertaining not to this incident, but to the hell that caused him to act like this – so, could he really think of an excuse? he was a horrible person. he was a horrible monster.
the ground shook. was it him? was it the world? no, mondstadt was rarely subject to earthquakes and the like. it was him. to back up this line of thinking, the world was blurring. it was most certainly him. tears leaked down his cheeks. why? why? what the hell ? what did he do to deserve this?
he was scared. so scared. scared and alone. time and time again. everyone walked away. left him to struggle. to fight for himself. and nobody loves the thing you become after you have to fight for yourself. you're no longer the weak, innocent child. you're a fucking bloodstained monster. he was no different.
the world kept shaking, faster, faster. it blurred more and more. he cried, choking on his tears and bloody spit. he hated this reality. this reality where he was sick. this reality where everyone walked away. this reality where all he could do was fight . like a cornered, caged animal. like a fucking animal.
"lumine," he sobbed, moaned. begged. for forgiveness? for help? for love? he didn't know. but he begged for her .
he knew she wouldn't come. she was just like that sometimes.
that was why he was so apprehensive about the dark. he was always left alone. to fall to his knees and wake there in the early morning. in the same darkness. the same sickening darkness, choking him like a vague, malaise-like miasma.
and once again, like his torment was a cyclical pattern, he fell unconscious. how pitifully tragic; embarrassing.
–
“ –er…? aether? hey?! aether?”
his vision and reality faded back in – no, it flooded him. it flooded back in.
but venti was there. above him. concerned. caring. caring. worried for him.
this had never happened before.
so it would be okay. for the very first time, it’d be okay.
“venti…?” he choked out weakly. a relieved smile immediately broke onto venti’s face.
“you’re okay! oh gods, you’re okay!! i was so scared, so worried about you! i’ve been trying to wake you up for at least an hour now, i think… oh, i’m so glad you’re alright,” he breathed, leaned back. certainly choked down a few sobs. let out a deep sigh. “what happened?”
oh, oh no. here it comes. here’s the part where venti, the only person he’d really known to trust, trust so steadily; through every little crisis that may cross his path, here’s the part where he stops caring for him. the part where he learns how much of a worthless creature his dear warrior is.
venti clearly must’ve seen him look painfully uncomfortable, or perhaps terrified, as he pulled back further and raised his hands in apology. “it’s alright,” he murmured so softly, gently. so gently that it was almost like he’d forgive aether for the monster he secretly was. “you don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. just… know that i’m here if you need to get it off your chest, alright? i do really care for you.”
he moved forward again, and, just as carefully and gently as he’d reassured aether that he could keep his secrets, lifted the traveler off the hard ground and into his arms. and he walked away, careful to shield his dear friend’s eyes from the mess he’d left behind.
aether fell back asleep.
–
he woke up somewhere safe. warm. cozy.
venti was sitting in bed next to him, fiddling with his lyre. likely coming up with a new melody.
he smiled when he saw aether’s eyes flutter open, he smiled so lovingly. he lowered a hand from the lyre to caress aether’s cheek.
“good morning, traveler. i hope you slept well after everything that happened earlier!! no worries though, it’s all okay now. you’re safe. you’re safe, i promise,”
“i think i love you,” aether breathed, staring into venti’s eyes. he was lost. but he felt like he’d found himself again under venti’s gaze. he wanted to be loved back. needed it. craved it so wildly and desperately that he’d throw their entire friendship in jeopardy just for a single kiss.
“and if i loved you back, my dear traveler~?” venti giggled with a sly smile. an… almost romantic smile. he loved aether back. it was written all over his face.
“i think i could live with that. or rather… i couldn’t live without that,” aether smiled so, so sweetly. he was simply smitten. venti leaned down and kissed him on the lips.
“no matter what you are, i’ll always love you, darling. i always have. since i first laid eyes on you,”
“you’re trying to get me to talk about last night, aren’t you,” aether mumbled. agitation leaked through his voice. couldn’t venti tell? pretending to love him wasn’t enough to push through the walls around his heart. the walls put up to protect him from everyone who came before, everyone who left him behind.
“i know everything that happened. y’know, through the wind and all,”
“i can’t get an inch of privacy, can i…?” aether grumbled, turned away from venti. clutching the pillow once against his head so defensively. scared. always so afraid.
“i’m sorry. i was worried about you. you seemed so tired. and i found out that you were in danger, i… i couldn’t help it. i already told you, didn’t i? i would love you if you were to be a monster. and frankly, what i saw – er – mostly heard on the wind; you seemed to be protecting yourself. so what if it got a little gory? all that matters to me is that you’re safe,”
aether couldn’t fucking stand this. how he pretended to love the gross, disgusting parts of him. how he pretended to simply brush over the fact that he was a fucking violent creature masquerading as a person.
“and how would you fucking understand?! how are you allowed to forgive my sins?!?! are you the one who shed the blood? was it your blood that was shed, your body mutilated and disgraced?!?! bah– you fucking bastard!! stop playing the role of the saint here! i don’t deserve love, i don’t! i never did!!”
he was crying, he was yelling, he was subbing, his eyes were screwed shut yet tears slipped through. he sniffled as his nose quickly filled with snot, he’d sat up and turned around to be facing venti, still holding the pillow so tightly against his chest. maybe to just relieve his discomfort a little.
“aether… you were scared. it wasn’t your fault. i know exactly what you did. the wind… isn’t exactly so fond of sugar-coating things, love. but i’ve heard much worse from the real monsters of this world. you only protected yourself. you aren’t a monster for getting violent and aggressive when backed into a corner. trust me, aether, i really do mean it. you’re worthy of love, no matter how people want to paint this behavior as disgusting or inexcusable. you deserve love– no, you’re deserving of my love. frankly, you don’t deserve anything from these pieces of shit who want to point fingers at you! what the hell do they want? for you to die because you’re too scared to protect yourself out of shame?!”
“i…” he really did love aether. the lump in his throat melted away. he began to cry. he didn’t know what to do; he’d never been confronted like this. never been loved wholly. but venti crawled closer and pulled aether into his arms. he whispered gentle, caring things. he held aether and rocked him softly, humming.
he loved aether. he truly, honestly loved aether. and so aether was willing to let go of a few walls, if only to venti. because he knew venti’s arms were always open. always there,
always safe.