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The trip to the market has been fruitful.
The Bard was able to accompany Venti to buy some apples, since they were running out of those at home. Sneaking a glance at his friend, he has to suppress a smile at the sight of Venti’s face, who’s beaming brightly at the fruits gathered in his arms. He can tell that his friend is doing everything he can to hold back the drool from the juicy red apples, so they better return home quickly before Venti gives into temptation.
They’ve spent quite some time outside, and the sky is starting to turn dark as they make their journey back to their house. Venti looks up to the clouds hovering above them, and he ends up watching them curiously.
“It’s going to be night time,” Venti comments, looking at him worriedly. “You need to sleep.”
The Bard chuckles. He had explained to him the other day that humans normally sleep at night, so his friend had been keeping track of his sleeping time. He appreciates it whenever he reminds him though, because he tends to stay up too late when inspiration strikes him while working on his poetry.
“It seems so,” the Bard says, before he decides to reassure him. “It’s okay, we’ll be home really soon. Once we get there, I promise I’ll—”
They both jump at the flash of lightning, followed by the sound of thunder rumbling.
Oh no. He didn’t expect for it to suddenly rain.
He immediately grabs Venti’s arm, before the two of them start running. It turns out that they didn’t have much time, because rain starts to pour all over them when they’re only halfway to their home. The Bard mutters a curse under his breath, whirling his head to the side to look at his friend. Venti doesn’t like the rain as a wind wisp, so he can only guess how much he doesn’t like the rain in his human form.
He hates how his hunch is right, because Venti starts to freak out as more water drops onto him. It’s mostly because he hates getting his wings soggy. The Bard quickly removes his cape to shield his friend from the rain, but it’s not as effective as when he’s in his wisp form. His wings are just too massive to fit under the cloth.
“My wings are all wet,” Venti wails, and the Bard looks at him remorsefully. His heart aches whenever he sees his companion so distressed. “I won’t be able to fly with these wings…”
“Venti, we’re almost there,” the Bard coos, attempting to calm him. “I promise you, I’ll help dry your wings as soon as we reach home. Okay?”
Venti presses his body close to him, trying his best to take shelter in what little his cape can offer. He clutches the apples close to his chest and gives a small bob of his head. “Okay…”
The moment they step inside their home, the Bard wastes no time to find some warm towels, uncaring that he himself is drenched from head to toe. He searches thoroughly through the dresser and wardrobe, grabbing all the towels that he can find. He returns to Venti in the living room, who’s fidgeting uncomfortably with his wings twitching restlessly behind his back. The apples are still being held tightly in his arms.
“My friend, perhaps you can put those apples down first,” the Bard coaxes, earning a nod from his friend. Once Venti has placed the apples on the table, he hands him one of the towels. “Here, a towel to dry yourself. I will help you dry your wings.”
Venti observes as he moves behind him to dry his wings, before he follows his movements, wiping his own body with the towel. Water drips from the white cloak he’s wearing, but it starts to slow as he continues to rub himself with the towel. The house soon falls into a comfortable silence, with the two of them focused on drying. The Bard gently wraps his friend’s wings with the towel, getting the cloth to absorb most of the water first.
“I don’t like the rain,” Venti whimpers, throwing the towel onto his hair before rubbing it.
“I know, my friend. I know,” the Bard says, his face softening. He’s careful to dry off the dampened feathers that seem to stick together. The last thing he wants is to upset his friend even further if his feathers end up shedding from any rough treatment.
After about an hour of drying up, Venti’s wings are finally free from the rain water. They seem to have become puffier too, thanks to the Bard’s ministrations. Venti emits a happy noise from the back of his throat, looking at his own wings in awe. It’s as if he can’t believe that his wings have actually dried.
“All done,” the Bard grins. He’s a little tired, but he’s not complaining when he gets to see the bright smile of his friend. He wrinkles his nose when it suddenly itches, and he quickly clamps a hand over his mouth when he sneezes.
“Friend, you are cold,” Venti says, snapping out of his trance, before he flies closer to him. His eyes are large with worry.
It only dawns onto the Bard that he’s been shivering. He still hasn’t dried himself, and staying in these sopping clothes are now starting to get to him. However, he only lets out a laugh, waving a nonchalant hand in the air. “It’s alright. Nothing a little drying can’t fix.”
Venti doesn’t seem to take it lightly though. He reaches out for one of the dry towels and spends a moment unfolding them.
“Let me dry you too, friend,” he says, holding the towel spread out in front of him.
Seeing how his friend simply wants to return the gesture, the Bard nods. He takes a step forward, and he allows himself to be wrapped with a warm towel. Venti looks really happy that he’s able to dry him, and the Bard finds it endearing that his friend appears to be so focused to the point that his tongue is sticking out from the corner of his mouth. Even though his movements are a little clumsy, and the Bard’s hair may have turned into a bird’s nest with his enthusiastic drying, the amount of love he pours into his gestures remains the same throughout the entire thing.
“Friend… you are still shaking,” Venti says, frowning after he removes the towel.
The Bard can only give him an apologetic smile. Unlike him, he’s not very cold-resistant, so it’ll take some time before he stops trembling. He’s about to reassure his friend that the shaking will lessen after he changes his clothes, when he notices that Venti has dropped the towel to move closer to him.
He waits, genuinely curious with what his friend is about to do. He’s surprised when Venti suddenly wraps him with his wings, engulfing him in a bunch of soft feathers.
“Last time, you said that my wings are warm,” Venti says, adjusting his position a bit into a less awkward one. He looks up to him with hopeful eyes. “Are you... feeling warm now?”
The Bard smiles and nods. “Yes,” he says, and he nestles in Venti’s hold. He has always loved the softness and warmth from Venti’s wings. “They are keeping me very warm right now. You have my gratitude, dear friend.”
The two of them are standing really close like this, with their faces only inches away. The Bard decides to take this opportunity to lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the centre of Venti’s forehead. An emphasis of his thanks.
Within seconds, Venti’s face turns a vivid red. Slowly, he lifts a hand to gingerly touch the place where the Bard has kissed.
“Oh,” Venti says, and he spends the next few seconds trying to comprehend what just happened. “I think your kiss makes me warm too, friend.”
The Bard holds back the wide smile that’s threatening to take over his face. “Do you really think so?”
“Yes,” Venti nods, suddenly fiddling with his fingers. He looks up at him with rounded eyes. “Can you... please do that again?”
“Of course,” the Bard says, and he doesn’t stop the fond smile that graces his lips. He makes a gesture with his hand for his friend to move closer. “I would hate it if my friend is still cold.”
Venti’s eyes twinkle with childlike excitement, and he quickly lowers his head in anticipation.
The Bard pushes back the dark fringe from his friend’s forehead, landing another kiss.
To give him warmth, this time.