Archive of Our Own ^beta

Venti wakes up to the feeling of cold lips pressing onto his forehead, accompanied by a soft, affectionate sigh. His eyelids tremble, for he doesn’t want to open his eyes yet, but he needs to catch a glance of the one who kissed him so tenderly before he goes away.

“Shh,” his boyfriend says with a tone that carries a smile. “Go back to sleep, love.”

“Come back to bed.” Venti almost meowls, grabbing the first thing he could reach. His boyfriend’s coat, Childe’s signature gray buttoned-up coat. It’s as soft as he remembers, Venti can’t help but caress the fabric.

He hears Childe chuckle, leaning down to kiss his temple again, a breathy touch that conveys a type of endearment that makes Venti melt into the mattress. “I’ll be home before you know it,” Childe says, as if it wasn’t a big lie.

Venti lets his hand slide down to intertwine with Childe’s fingers, a last attempt to make him stay, even though he knows it’s futile. Childe parts with a last light, giggly smooch on his left ear, one that tickles and warms Venti’s skin, one that has him finally opening his eyes and watching as his boyfriend’s back disappear behind the bedroom door, into the unknown world of suits and ties and lessons about Economics and whatever else.

For a moment, Venti clenches his fist on the cover, a dreadful feeling flooding his heart. There’s no reason to doubt his words, Childe always returns home at the end of the day, but Venti still can’t help but think of the day when he won’t, when he will step through the door to never come back.

By the time Childe arrives, Venti is a mess of limbs and colorful hair on top of the couch, a bowl of guacamole and tortilla chips on the coffee table and the ukulele discarded somewhere on the carpet.

“Rough day, huh?” Childe asks, as if his own day wasn’t rough. Venti doesn’t move, but he groans in acknowledgement. “Missed you.” Childe’s voice fills the room with the color of sunrise and sea salt.

He takes off his shoes and approaches the couch where Venti has laid down. “Hello, my love.” When he presses a kiss on Venti’s forehead, Venti can only stare at him in awe.

He wonders if one day he will get used to the feeling of Childe coming back.

Venti still remembers when they started dating: he just came back to college after a year dropped out, and on his first day he bumped into this very tall, very eye-catching junior. He remembers he had stared into the bluest of eyes, got lost in a water vortex and was spit out somewhere on campus he didn’t even know where.

“Sorry, dude,” the stranger said with a voice that carried the feeling of cold sand and high mountains, wind howling at his back. “By the way, do you know where the Administration building is?”

Venti pointed in a general direction, still caught off guard.

“Thanks, man!” That smile had no right to pierce through Venti’s guts as it did, nor did the stranger have the right to pat his shoulder in gratitude in a way that rearranged all of Venti’s shivers.

Venti remembers how he stared at the stranger’s back, covered by a black and purple hoodie that stretched at each step, the auburn hair gleaming a soft orange under the sunglow. He stayed there, mesmerized, even though it was only a brief interaction, and wondered if it was how love at first sight felt like.

From that moment on, Venti should’ve known he ought to be careful—his heart had been smashed and thrown away before. At that time, he was still mending the pieces—, but when it came to Aether’s new friend, who had just introduced himself as Childe, the guy he’d bumped into a day earlier, it seemed all of his precautions had flown out of the window.

It took only about a month for Venti to write his first song about a smile that hid the moon on its curve and five after it for him to steal the first kiss under the influence of two glasses of wine at someone's house party. Childe had pulled away and said they should have a first date first and foremost, but he voiced it in a way Venti knew his feelings were reciprocated, which made him want to kiss him again. And so he did it, again and again, until he couldn’t remember which arm belonged to who, until his thoughts were fuzzy and he didn’t want to sober up, didn’t want to wake up and find out it was all just the first nice dream he had in almost two years.

Truth be told, even after three years it still seemed like a dream. Childe holds his hand on his, fingers loosely interlocked so as to not sweat too much from the warm weather, his throat humming some childish song that was stuck on his head for the day. Whenever Venti looks up at him, a feeling of tenderness worms its way into his heart, pumping up to every artery and vein, filling his pores with joy and curving his lips into a gleeful smile.

Absent-mindedly, Childe lifts Venti’s hand, taking it near his mouth to place a kiss on top of his knuckles, an action so instinctive it didn’t even occur to him how it sent Venti to short-circuit every single time.

“You’re staring,” Childe notes, a wrinkle appearing between his brows. Venti lifts his free hand and smooths it slowly. “Why are you staring?”

The answer Venti wishes to give is too long and possesses way too much baggage for the current moment, so he opts to shrug. “You’re a very sweet guy, that’s all.”

Childe furrows his brows again. “Where did that come from?”

“Nowhere.” Unfortunately for him, Venti was a better liar. He places his thumb in the middle of Childe’s forehead again, sliding down to the side of his face and cupping his cheek. There they were, the half-lidded eyes, pleased by just a small touch of affection. How much power does a lover’s touch possess, Venti muses. “I’m just happy you’re with me.”

“Again, where did that come from?”

They moved on to teasing, which is safer ground.

“Can’t I be happy walking hand in hand with my boyfriend under this lovely weather?” Venti laughs as Childe turns and kisses the palm that was holding his cheek. It tickles, but Venti stays put, because Childe looks the happiest when he was giving affection, and he doesn’t want to lie anymore, not when it is true Venti’s never been happier than when he’s around Childe.

One day, Venti told someone that although he was allergic to cats, he thought they were pretty cute. The following week, Venti found on top of his desk a variety of cat-related gifts, ranging from a cute white and pastel pink notepad to a folded origami Venti was too afraid of touching and ruining.

Venti has warned them he was made to bring ruin, but they patted his cheek and kissed his eyelids. If they chose not to hear, it was on them, and so the gifts continued.

Each and every one of them was kept inside a plastic box, safe from his clumsy hands, but easy enough to bring close to the heart when the memories started to overwhelm.

One day, Venti told someone he dreamed of performing at the rooftop of the tallest building, after a summer shower rain when the city is glistening slowly and bright. They wrote lyrics together that afternoon, words flowing from Venti’s mouth and swiftly captured by other’s handwriting, pages and pages of notes piling up around them.

Venti rested his head on their tights and he had a promise whispered in his ear that next summer they’d play together: lyre and flute, violin and keyboard, ukulele and bass. Each name was accompanied by a soft kiss, a chuckle and a smile, for both knew it was wishful thinking—no one was allowed at that building, but it didn’t hurt to dream.

One day, Venti told someone his favorite place was the apple orchard outside the city. He placed his fingers on their wrist and skipped class to show them all around: the worn-down street it was located, the first row of trees the tourists favored, the hidden abandoned house just ahead where Venti sometimes sang to wild foxes and toads. Then, it was time for the banquet, tree after tree they climbed and picked more apples than they could hold, running away when an old man started to chase them with a broom.

Venti had thrown himself on the soft grass just near the faculty building, laughing while apples rolled from his pockets and a warm body threw itself on top him, giggles filling the warm afternoon. Their eyes were the color of sunset, Venti held his breath and chased away the fear they’d disappear if he blinked too fast.

One day, Venti told someone he kept a box of cute cat-themed items because he doesn’t want to use them up yet. The next day, the box burned with red flames of jealousy from a former time.

One day, Venti told someone he had a notebook filled with duets he wished to sing at the end of the summer. The next day, ripped pages were scattered around the living room, a symphony of screams ringed for a full quarter of sun.

One day, Venti told someone he’d like to bring them to his favorite place. The next day, he woke up to snuggles and cuddles and thought this time, this time the day wouldn’t be ruined by memories nor fears.

Venti packed a bottle of cider and his guitar, he showed them the way through the apple trees and motioned for them to enter the old house, to sit by the brown hare who’ve made its home there. The sun was golden and warm, a picture perfect autumn afternoon, the kind lovers could only dream of. Venti was about to start his performance when he was told to wait.

They would come back, they just needed to get something—that’s what Venti told himself. Nothing quite prepared him for when they didn’t.

One day, Venti returned to an empty house. That day, Venti was left with an empty heart.

Venti graduated last year, but Childe still has a year to go. They decided to move together sometime before Venti’s graduation, when he was so busy between job hunting and writing his final thesis Childe invited himself over to take care of him for weeks in a row.

“Since you’re here so often, why don’t you move in?” Venti asked one day. He said it jokingly, he knew Childe lived in a much better place than he did.

Venti’s house was a three-room apartment located in a run-down building downtown. There was graffiti plastered on almost every surface of the street and ambulance sirens going off in the distance due to its proximity to a hospital. Although the practicality of having every kind of store nearby and a farmer’s market every Sunday, Venti knew it wasn’t a place he’d like to live with the love of his life.

“Why don’t you move out?” Childe replied. The kitchen and living room were separated only by a plastic table on the corner of the room, so Venti could see all Childe was doing while he typed his paragraphs.

Childe tied the apron’s bow on his back, a gift from his younger siblings that’s now stained and worn-down, but he still wears it every time he cooks. Venti forced himself to look away, for he has stared at his boyfriend’s back for a long time now. It wasn’t the time to have lascivious thoughts about that apron, he had a thesis to finish.

“No steady job yet,” Venti sighed from the sofa.

Just a few more paragraphs and he’d call it a day. Sometimes Venti reflected upon his decision of going back to college, but he was immediately reminded the job prospects were better if you had a graduation degree and decided it was worth the stress for only a month more.

It was almost over!

“We could, like you said, move together.”

Venti stopped typing. He looked up at Childe again, who still had his back turned to him, chopping leeks quickly and efficiently as if he didn’t just say the words Venti’s heart anticipated the most.

“We could,” Venti answered carefully. While his fingers pretended to tap the letter keyboard, his mind was having a hard time not to let the last time someone proposed to him to move in together get in the way of the present situation.

“It could be around my neighborhood, if you’d agree,” Childe continued. Although the knife was steady on his hands, his voice was clearly anxious. “It’s farther from your campus though.”

Venti chuckled. “If everything goes to plan, the only time I step back on campus will be to get my certificate.”

The knife stopped. “And you like where I live.”

Venti’s eyes were careful. “I certainly do.”

“So?” Childe turned, hands casually hanging at his side on the balcony, as if his eyes weren’t betraying how nervous he was feeling. From the looks of it, Venti almost thought he was about to ask his hand in marriage as well.

With that in mind, Venti closed the lid of his laptop, opening a smile.

“As soon as I get a proper job, the first thing we’ll do is look for an apartment.” Venti didn’t think his smile could open any wider, but Childe beamed and ran the three steps from the counter to the living room just to throw himself on top of Venti, kissing him like the first time, passionate and lovely and, oh, Venti was so in love it ached.

His mouth wished to sing praises at the wind and bite the soft flesh of Childe’s ear, to let him know he deserves so much happiness Venti doesn’t know if he’ll be able to provide it. But fuck that, Venti decides; he will try his very best, because Childe makes him the happiest person alive.

It’s late and Venti knows it. He has already left a message to his boyfriend saying he will arrive home way past the usual hour, but it didn’t do a lot to help his condition. Writer’s block was something Venti should be used to having by now, but every time it struck it was as if he never learned how to navigate through it.

The studio Venti worked at belonged to a small music production company. They mainly worked with little-known artists, so Venti’s job was to help them produce tracks that would be both innovative and popular. Not to brag much, but he was good at his job. Three of the soloists Venti was assigned to had already signed contracts with some important labels, but this one—Barbara Pegg, an old acquaintance, though they never interacted much in college—was being more of a challenge than he anticipated.

Venti wanted to do things perfectly, not simply ‘good enough’, and that self-pressure was clearly taking a toll on his creativity.

The only lights on at this hour were the ones from his desk. Venti didn’t hear when the last person walked out of the building, leaving him with his small keyboard and a notebook filled with scribbles and musical notes.

Venti lowers his head until his forehead touches the table, a tired sigh coming out of his lips. Just when he was about to close his eyes, his phone rings, the folk pop ringtone a very familiar one.

“Hey,” Venti immediately answers, “did something happen?” It was unusual for Childe to call him at work.

He hears a deep breath on the other side of the line. “Nothing, I just… I miss you.” Childe’s voice is soft and on the verge of shyness, as if the words slipped through his lips into the night and he only noticed them when the sound hung in the air.

Venti’s heart leaps in pleasant surprise and he can’t help it, he lets out a breathy giggle that quickly turns into a laugh. There are tears in the corner of his eyes and Venti can’t stop smiling.

“I miss you too,” he says, quietly wishing for that same nocturnal wind to carry his words to his love.

“When will you come home?”

“I don’t know.” Venti curls his lips, the laughter dying on his throat. “I still have to finish so many songs…”

“Want me to bring you dinner?” Venti can almost see the way Childe jumps from where he’s sat, already on his way to pack a warm meal no matter the answer.

“You already do a lot for me,” he opts to say instead.

“Venti.”

Venti’s heart clenches. That voice. “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?” How can Childe say that with the steadiest of voices, so effortlessly?

“You just said it,” Venti teases, because it is the safest thing he could say.

“So, now that you know it,” Childe teases back, the tone conveying the shape of a smile, “you must also know that whatever I do, if it’s for you, it always brings me the greatest of joys.”

Yes, Venti also knows that.

“I’ll be there in… half an hour, I guess?” Childe starts mumbling to himself, probably planning the best way to keep the dinner warm all the way to the studio.

Venti doesn’t hang up the call for the next five minutes. He’s listening to the sounds of Childe rummaging through the kitchen, pouring soup into thermal containers and selecting whatever fruits are fresh on the counter. Last time Venti checked, there were apples and a very colorful dragon fruit there. Every little sound reaches his ears and Venti can only feel loved, loved, love pouring from each and every one of them.

After a very long brunch that was stressful enough to compensate for all the fancy food, Venti arrives home with tiredness oozing from every pore. He goes straight to the bedroom, wishing for nothing more than to change clothes and hopefully nap on top of Childe the entire afternoon.

However, something has Venti stopping right at the doorway: there’s a moving mass in the middle of the bed that sways ever so slightly with the wind coming from the window.

“Oh, you’re here!” Childe says from the corridor, “How do you like it?”

Venti approaches the bed carefully, because if it is what he thinks it is… It turns its head and Venti realizes it is a cat, a sphynx cat, hairless and grayish and in possession of the deepest pair of green eyes Venti has ever locked gaze into. The cat meows in his direction, opening its mouth and exposing a set of pointed teeth and Venti feels like crying from the adorable-ness.

“You said you liked cats, but could never have one because of the allergies.” Childe leans on the doorframe, arms crossed to mask the trembling of his hands. Venti can only stare at the bed, speechless. “The people at the adoption booth told me this one wouldn’t be a problem, but I can return it if your allergies starts to attack—”

“You didn’t have to!” Venti exclaims. His lips tremble, but the burning in his eyes has nothing to do with his allergies.

Childe takes a step forward, hands extended to cup Venti’s face. “Do you like him?” He whispers, thumbs trailing the shape of his cheeks.

“Of course I do.” Venti rests his fingers on top of Childe’s wrists, “How could I not? He’s perfect.”

Childe smiles at him and Venti feels his throat burn. “Then of course I had to! Seeing you smile is my favorite thing in the world.”

Venti almost loses it right there. How can someone like him deserve such a caring person in his life? Venti feels the tears starting to form, so he looks away, but the cat is in his line of sight now, staring at him like he wants to offer comfort and snuggles and Venti can’t swallow back a cry in time.

“Are you ok?” Childe asks, pulling his face up. His expression is an open book and Venti can see it all: the concern, the care, the tenderness. “Was it something I said?”

Venti can’t answer. He buries his head in Childe’s chest and lets the sobs curse through him, letting go of the stress from the morning and his feelings of self-doubt as Childe holds him close, arms lacing his back and his waist and— Venti lets the tears wash away any bad memories that resurface; he wants to make new ones, he wants nothing more than to feel deserving of the happiness Childe so freely gives him.

“It’s okay, love,” Childe murmurs on the crown of his head, “I’m here.”

They embrace each other for a long time, minutes passing by like water falling from open hands. Not long after, though, the smell of something burning reaches their noses. The cat jumps from the bed and runs to the corridor, but Venti still doesn’t let go of Chide, not when he feels his body has molded into the other like a long-lost puzzle piece.

“Love,” Childe calls, voice painted with desperation, “I also don’t want to break the hug, but I fear the cookies will turn to charcoal if I don’t take them out of the oven.”

This makes Venti laugh, which also turns to be an opportunity for Childe to pick him up and take them both to the kitchen, where the cat is staring at the oven as if it would turn off by glaring hard enough. Venti chuckles from that too, enveloping Childe’s neck with his arms and waist with his legs, adjusting his position like a koala as Childe carefully removes the tray of cookies and lays it on the counter to cool off.

“That was dangerous,” Childe says, looking at Venti in surprise, as if he didn’t notice how he got so tangled around his body.

“I don’t wanna let go of you.” Venti sticks out his tongue. He’s feeling warm and giggly, content with just staring at his boyfriend’s eyes. Oh, he has a boyfriend, he’s had a boyfriend for four years and just now it dawned upon him how wonderful it was.

“I don’t want you to let go either,” Childe laughs. He looks so beautiful laughing, Venti can’t help but smile at the sight.

Childe reaches forward to tuck a strand of teal hair behind Venti’s ear, the gesture so tender Venti stares at him in awe. He likes it, he likes him so much. When Childe pulls him for a quick kiss on his temple Venti melts against him, feeling kisses peppering down his neck and on his shoulders, small giggles filling the kitchen.

The cat then meows again from the floor and Childe almost drops him, which causes Venti to laugh even harder.

“If we’re going to keep him, he needs a name,” Childe says, but his eyes don't go away from Venti’s face.

“We’ll think about it over the cookies,” Venti replies. His hands are already around Childe’s waist, “I want to kiss you again.”

Will he ever get tired of seeing this man smile? Venti doesn’t think so, not when his cheeks are tinged light pink after getting kissed, making Venti wish to bite them, to press his lips on each freckle and mole and repeat I love you in his heart until he has the courage to say it out loud.

Venti has been thinking about it for a long time now. Most days he wakes up to the view of ocean eyes staring lovingly at him, then scrunches his nose playfully as Childe brushes his cold lips on his forehead as a good morning kiss before going out to work. Throughout the day, Venti will send him pictures of anything that reminds him of his beloved, from the clear color of the sky to a blueberry muffin his coworker offered him after lunch.

Venti is usually home earlier, so he chops the vegetables and leaves most of the preparation for dinner ready for when Childe arrives, because he can’t cook as well as his boyfriend does, but he does what he can to help. As soon as their house starts to smell like homemade stew, Venti goes to hug his Bard, the one cat that he can snuggle up with as much as he wants to, and shares how his day went over whatever song is playing on the radio. Childe braids his hair and tells him about his own day, then they eat their dinner together.

When they go to bed, Childe pins him down with a look overflowing with care and says, slowly and deliberately, as if wanting to fill the entire room with those three words, the sweet ones that always make Venti shiver upon hearing. And Venti replies with a kiss on each of his eyelids, for it’s as much as he can do at the time. Just as every other gesture of love he does, it’s enough, even without saying it out loud.

Despite knowing that, Venti has been thinking about it. As he walks hand in hand with Childe in the early evening, he thinks again: how can I give back just a bit of what he gives me. It’s a harmless thought most of the time, but, lately, old doubts have started to arise.

The path they’re walking leads to a field of Cecilias, although most of them haven’t bloomed yet. As Venti gazes at them, he spots a flower that has begun to open in the direction of the rising moon, one brave enough to present itself vulnerable before the others. An old image runs through his mind and, suddenly, Venti has a clear idea of what to do.

On a whim, he lets go of Childe’s hand to run in its direction, stopping right beside the flower in full blossom. Venti looks at him expectantly, heart beat-drumming inside his ribcage as he awaits for Childe to catch up on him.

Venti already has the flower in hand when he arrives.

“What is this?” Childe tilts his head. He looks stunning under the pale moonlight.

Venti breathes in. “A Cecilia—” He breathes out. “—For you.”

Childe’s face opens a confusing, albeit pleased smile. “It’s lovely.”

“I wish I could give you more.” Venti places the flower on Childe’s ear, another memory overlaying the present one. “I hope you accept this.”

Venti has finally learnt how to let go.

“Venti, my love,” Childe’s voice has some worry on top of the usual softness, “just being with you is enough for me.”

Venti shakes his head. “Childe.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.” Venti looks at him, stares at the night sky reflected in his irises and tries to convey as much seriousness as he can onto his voice. “I love you so, so much.”

For a moment, Childe is at a loss for words. Then, he’s smiling again, small and fond, with all the reassuring Venti knows Childe thinks he needs. “I know.”

“No, you don’t.” Venti takes a step forwards, then climbs on his tiptoes to better cup Childe’s face with great care. At a distance, they can almost hear the whispers of the stars rising up to watch over them. Venti has eyes for nothing else than Childe when he opens his mouth again. “You soothe my wounds and kiss my scars as if they are threads of silver, you fan the dying embers of my heart into a flame and hold me while I burn in your arms. You fill my soul with such joy that makes me sing praises in the wind for something as small as early morning dew and late night drizzles, to send kisses in the air and hope they reach your heart when I am not around to kiss you properly.”

“Venti…” Childe’s eyes are a pool made out of abyss and devotion.

“I love you so much it pains me,” Venti continues, “Sometimes I want to carve out this sentiment and have it delivered to your caring hands, because you give yourself so freely and it makes me want to give as much in return.”

Childe’s voice is velvet with a smile that mimics the crescent moon. “You don’t have to.”

“Childe, please.” Venti takes Childe’s hand into his, pressing it to his chest. “There is a drumming song inside my heart and I wish to sing along with it. I offer you my voice, because it is the only thing in my possession I can freely give, because my soul yearns to sing to your verses.”

There is a poignant pause when Venti pronounces the last of his words, when the Cecilias start blooming around them, when the night envelops them in lukewarm moonlight.

“Venti,” Childe murmurs, “if I say I only understood about half of what you said…”

Venti balances his weight on his heels again, a joyful smile plastered on his face. “I merely wish to make you as happy as you make me,” he says, caressing his lover’s cheek again with his thumb, “Childe, my dearest.”

Another pause. Venti counts the stars that got caught on Childe’s skin as the answer takes a while to come.

“Oh.” Childe is blushing now, which is an adorable sight. “Oh,” he repeats, and Venti can’t help but let the happiness fly from his chest in the form of a laugh. “I love you too.”

Childe first touches the Cecilia flower on his ear, then cups Venti’s face with a careful, loving hand.

“You— Really, what’s with all that?” It’s Childe’s turn to laugh, making Venti’s chest lighten even more. “You know I love you no matter what.”

Venti shrugs. “I wanted to make something special.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t just offer your heart and soul as if we were about to make a contract.”

“What if they’re already yours?” Venti asks before he can think about it.

“Oh.” Childe’s mouth gaps slightly, pink painting his face once again. Venti was about to laugh it off when Childe leans into him, making their foreheads touch. His eyes are so full of love Venti momentarily forgot how to breathe. “Then it’s only fair I give you mine in return.”

If Venti feels like fainting when Childe slips a ring on his palm, the moon and stars don’t have to know. They’ve seen enough, and what happens next is something for only the two of them to share.