Chapter Text
Mourning is such an odd thing. A mortal thing that Venti has far too much experience dealing with. He wishes that he didn’t know the empty bottomless feeling that someone leaves behind so intimately. Loss of so many things showed him that. Too many things for him to count.
The familiarity is painful, although it would have been useful information in his life before. Many, many years before.
Even now he still doesn’t quite understand it.
It’s a sick feeling that settles over him again and again. He’ll forget about it sometimes, when laughing at a bar, playing music in the square and exchanging stories with the town’s folk. Surrounded by people. He would like to think life is better now.
Here, where his stature resides and his people are happy. Looking at the image of himself, a face that he can barely recognize as neither his own or anyone else’s. It only makes the longing he can’t explain grow all the more in his chest. That isn’t him, this form isn’t him. Even as barbatos, something isn’t right. It makes him itch, as though trying to claw the feeling out from beneath his skin. A buzz that seems won’t ever go away. No matter what he tries to do it seems to always remain.
How long did it take him to realize that humans die? How long for him to realize the friends he will make won’t always be there for him. Won’t always return. That despite the many promises of companionship and travel, he will still always, always, end up alone.
How long did he float there in another form, smaller and light and just that much more fragile, staring, at the lifeless body of a friend he could no longer remember the name of. How long did he make a fool of himself, trying to offer food to a body that could no longer eat? To a being who’s heartbeat had slowed and stopped, blood shimmering out onto the ground below him.
The arrow protruding from the young boy’s chest. The rubble and dirt that lay around them. The fire, smoke and ash, the screaming- and yet nothing seemed to matter as a lukewarm hand came up to cup the spirit’s small form. He could curl up in the human’s hand, practically hiding away there. The touch was warm even if the boy’s body was growing colder, growing limp as time passed.
“We did it.” His friend would whisper, and he would chirp back, a small sliver of feeling creeping up because the human didn’t sound joyful that they had won their freedom. Fought back and overthrown the corrupted nation. This sounded like goodbye.
Back then he gave the smallest chirp, chasing the hand as it fell to the ground. Nudging into it softly to try and will the boy to go back to petting him. Go back to comforting him. Because despite the battle that had raged not hours before, only now did the spirit start to feel afraid.
The touch was comforting, and often was the boy’s go to when sharing affection to him all those years ago.
Something Venti had then taken for granted, as he finds out how affection is rarely offered to him now.
Instead, he’ll drink his sorrows away when thoughts become too loud and the urge to crawl out of his own skin becomes too much to bear. It’s becoming an increasingly bad habit, nearly every night.
To the point that Diluc no longer teases him about being underaged to drink and he’s become such a regular client that he comes to find a drink already sat and waiting by the time he enters Angel’s Share.
Liquor, Venti figures out quite quickly, is just as warm as companionship. Sometimes better. It’s not as fickle as people and he can take and take and take as much as he wants without worrying about it getting taken away from him.
Until he’s out of mora that is, or Diluc decides to be rather paternal for some reason, and refuse to give him anything more to drink with the insistence to “Go home Venti, go to bed and sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He won’t, but he’ll smile just the same because it shows that the red head, maybe, cares about him. Then he’s back on the cold streets, alone for the night to wander till dawn or he head home, whichever entices the bard first.
It’s routine by now.
Distract himself during the day, drink through the night. Sleep, maybe, if he feels like he needs it.
Easier to laugh and get along with humans when his head is cottony and hazy from booze. He’s less likely to over think that way.
If he doesn’t, he might cry.
He finds it so easy to do that now adays. A harder fight to keep the tears and bay when someone comes close to him but never close enough.
It’s so stupid. How people keep their distance, in a town, in a city, that was quite literally made by him. By barbatos more accurately. The titles mess with Venti’s head. It’s him, isn’t it? The image carved into stone, with wings jutting from his back and harp in hand.
How can one part of him could be so easily adored while the other part of him struggles to get by most days off of small scraps of misplaced affection.
It must be a human thing, the crying, something a wisp wouldn’t be able to do even when others around him could. He’s used to mimicking. Not this. He doesn’t have to mimic sadness anymore; it comes too naturally.
Not like it did back then.
The people whispering and talking around him all felt like noiseless chatter when the spirits eyes fluttered open. The sun was up and the fires from the day previous were put out. His small body was still tucked up close to his companion’s arm.
“Poor boy.”
“So young”
“Too young-”
The spirit didn’t know what they meant, cowering behind the boy’s sleeve to hide himself from the human onlookers.
“Bled out…”
“Oh how terrible.”
He wanted to leave. To many people. Too many snippets of conversations. Their job was complete they should move on. But his friend wasn’t waking. Wasn’t stirring even as he gave a soft chirp and nuzzled into his hand.
“How long do you recon?”
“A couple days now-”
Food! That was it. They usually ate breakfast together. He should go and get some for his companion, then he would wake!
“What is that thing?”
“Some spirit. The soul?”
“No he had it before I believe.”
He nudged an apple closer, a small chirp echoing from his small form. Nothing. The people where still talking around them.
“Hard to tell.”
“When will it leave him?”
“No clue. Someone will have to come…”
“Will it let us get close?”
“Maybe try moving it away?”
He floated onto his companion’s chest, went back to nuzzle at the boy’s cheek. His face was cold and pale. It wasn’t right but he didn’t understand. There was blood, he wasn’t moving, still wasn’t. He didn’t understand didn’t understanddidn’tundersta-
A hand that he doesn’t recognize engulfs him as the spirit is too occupied with seeing why the bard won’t wake.
The wisp gave a squeak.
“Easy there.” A voice he didn’t recognize said.
“Grab the body.”
“Must be the creatures owner.”
More voices, talking about him now.
“Poor thing.”
He cried and squirmed, tried to break free from the hands that held him. That blocked out the sunlight and forced him away from his friend. After all that they had been through, was this how it ended now?
He doesn’t see what happens to his companion. And maybe that’s what makes the whole situation worse. When he’s finally let go and the crowd thins, the people leaving.
Leaving a small wisp alone and confused.
Searching the streets, filled with the sounds of both joy and sorrow. The town is free, shackles of a tyrant lifted and yet the sprite finds it harder and harder to fly. Weighed down by some unknown feeling. Freighted, scared, alone… Where is his friend? He thought he wouldn’t be left here again! Why is he left? Why is he always alone?!
He waits there. For days. Weeks? Months? Time is such an odd thing to a being that doesn’t age. When will his friend be coming back? Why won’t he return? Has he been left again?
He waits there, flying to the music instrument the boy loved to play. Maybe he would awake then, come back to the spirit, and once again play for it.
Although that to was meaningless. Staying with broken lyre that played no more sounds. Waiting for a boy who would never again come.
The town around him changes. Slowly at first. He gets confused as the city streets change. As the people change. And yet somehow, despite watching the crowds that pass, watching the faces and hoping each and everyday, the sprite knows, deep down, that his friend won’t ever be coming back.
Venti.
He takes the name as his own. Using his best recollection of his companion to change his appearance. His face, his hair, his eyes, and mouth. Slender fingers and long legs.
No longer small and helpless. But human.
Like the humans that started this war. Like the tyrant who came before freedom arose. Like the human who stopped him from going after his friend. For all the humans had managed to accomplish, for as powerful and great as they seemed, in taking on one of their appearance’s, why did he still feel so small?
.
.
.
.
.
“Venti!”
“Huh?” The bard blinks, head lifting from the wooden table he seemed to have been lying on. “Must’a dozed off.” He mutters, more to himself than to whoever it was calling his name.
It takes him a moment to truly take in his surroundings. Diluc’s tavern, it takes him no time at all to identify the location. A little longer to discern the pair of silver and gold blobs next to him.
The Traveler and his companion.
“You’re crying.”
“No I’m not.” He says adamantly, wiping at his eyes only to find his finger tips damp. “Oh…” Explains the blurriness.
A hazy memory tries to push itself to the front of his mind but whether from too much time passing or too much to drink he can’t seem to properly focus on it.
Maybe it was time to call it a night. Clearly, he had too much to drink.
“Is tone-deaf bard hurt?” Paimon asks sounding concerned.
He watches the fairy for a moment floating close to Aether’s shoulder. The two of them are no doubtablely grown close to one another through their travels. A bond that he still longs to share with someone. He’s not jealous, but some emotion lodges itself in his throat and he finds it difficult to speak.
He swallows thickly.
He watches Aether nudge the fairy, giving the younger girl a disappointed look.
“Geez, sorry, sorry. Venti. Is Venti hurt?”
It sounds as though it pains her to say his name. His name… is that even his name?
Again, the feeling of not right not right not right… washes over him. He wants to tug on his hair, to disappear. To sink out of this form and into another more comfortable one, but that would be wrong and he’s trying to not stand out here and there are people around so he wouldn’t be able to-
“I’m not hurt. Guess I just- well,” His voice fades. He needs to figure out how to end this conversation and quickly, “Better call it a night then huh? It’s late and we wouldn’t want to keep Diluc up to long running the place.”
“Right, because that’s always been Venti’s biggest concern.” Paimon says, hands on her hips and a look on her face that says she doesn’t buy his excuse for even a second.
“Yup!” Venti laughs, or at least tries to. It must fall flat if the looks he’s getting are anything to go off of.
He reaches for his money pouch to avoid making eye contact and answering any other questions, only now does Venti realize he is once again low on funds to actually pay for all the booze he’s drunk and panics slightly. Not now! Of all the times, why now?
The sound of coins being placed on the table draw him out of his mind for a moment.
His eyes flick up to meet honey blond hair. Aether.
“Here. It’s on us.”
His voice is soft. It’s been a while since Venti’s heard the Traveler speak.
He needs to say something. To thank them at the very least. Venti tries to, stopped by a hand on his arm. Warm and strong, the contact enough to make his mind stutter for a moment. Aether again, pulling him off of the bar stool, up and onto his feet.
“You don’t look to good, and it’s late. We should get you home.”
Venti forces himself to talk. To say something to the Traveler who is currently speaking more than the bard has ever heard him do before.
The fact that he of all people isn’t talking must be ringing warning bells. “Alright.” Venti says, and doesn’t try to smile. He’s tired. So, so tired. Another funny thing to be considering he doesn’t need regular sleep like mortals do.
They walk in silence, Aether’s hand never faltering, moving from his arm to hold onto Venti’s own hand. Venti’s glad for it, afraid that he’s too far into his own mind to not wind up lost or running head first into the other. This way he can zone out, trusting the pair to lead him.
His thoughts focus on other things instead of the walk. Maybe that’s a bad thing. Maybe he should try to stop. But that takes more energy that he’s willing to part with at the moment.
Besides his thoughts never start off bad. Simple things. On how the wind blows softly through his hair, makes his cape flutter behind him. The soft swoosh that comes from Paimon as she floats besides the two of them. The sound of their shoes on the paved streets.
The breeze is cold now that the sun has set. It makes him shiver, press closer to Aether. If the blonde notices he doesn’t say anything about it.
He notes that his clothes feel wrong. It’s elegant, not comfortable. Too many layers. The collar of his shirt too high, the bow around his neck suddenly too tight. The fabric too fitting and textured wrong. It makes his skin itch. His hair itches too. When’s the last time he washed it? He can’t remember. Doesn’t matter in the slightest.
At least it shouldn’t yet his mind stays fixed on it. On all the imperfections that come with this form.
How the strands of his hair are too bright in color, taking on hues of blue instead of black like he originally wanted them too. His own powers seeping in and tainting the image of a boy he’s slowly beginning to forget. He wants to dye it, if only that would help him feel better. Redo the braids that were coming undone even though his hands would shake in doing so. They wouldn’t come out right either way. Only serve to make him feel worse.
It feels as though everything about his appearance is wrong. So completely wrong. It’s hard to keep up human appearances, so much easier as a small wisp. His form quakes for a moment. It would be so much easier to transform, just for a few moments. He’d turn back again, honest. It’s not like he doesn’t like his appearance as a human. Far from it. It’s just that days like these it’s hard to keep up with. Hard to not want-
“We’re here.” Oh so they are, already inside of his apartment without the bard even realizing
He blinks, trying to will the haze away long enough to talk.
“Do you need anything, before we go?” Aether asks, while Paimon looks around.
He does. It’s stupid but the longing is back and he hasn’t had nearly enough to drink to push the feeling away.
“Can I have a hug?” He asks, not quite looking at Aether. Rejection is going to hurt worse that simply not asking. Maybe he did have more than he thought to drink and that’s why he feels surprisingly bold.
“A hug?”
It’s a simple question, as though Aether didn’t hear him but it’s enough to send Venti back tracking.
It’s funny how panic can clear ones thoughts.
“Never mind! Forget I said anything, it’s late and I’m tired, clearly not thinking- night you two!” He goes to shoo the pair out. Deal with this on his own as he always has.
It doesn’t go as planned. By pushing Aether towards the door he’s instead pulled into a hug by him. His mind is reeling at the contact. Surrounded by warmth that isn’t artificial.
A moment later he can feel Paimon petting his head.
“Poor Venti.” She mutters.
He nearly breaks right there.
He doesn’t know if he’s overwhelming the Traveler. Maybe he’s being to much. But neither pull away and Venti is desperate for any sliver of affection he can get right now that even if he was being pushy, he would just blame it on alcohol later if it came to it.
“Is this what this really is about? Why didn’t you just tell someone?”
He couldn’t. Can’t even begin to explain it now.
“‘Cause is ‘tupid.” His voice gets muffled with the way his face is pressed into Aether’s chest.
“Being lonely isn’t stupid.”
He wants to laugh. He thinks he might be crying. Venti just hugs Aether tighter.
There’s something else. Something that is so stupid, but he’s already made a fool of himself this far. Besides, Aether has Paimon, the fairy reminding him so much about his old traveling days. So what. He might as well be selfish just for a bit longer. He’s already come this far.
“Can I ask one more thing?” The bard is surprised when his voice doesn’t crack.
“Sure. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“Don’t let go?”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Of course, Venti.”
In a flash of blue he shrinks, and there floats a small wisp where the human bard once stood.
Aether blinks, slightly dazed, they both are, Venti included as he adjusts to the world around him from his new height. The Traveler reaches out a hand which Venti flinches away from without meaning too.
“You’re alright.”
The wisp gives soft chitter, suddenly regretting his decision to be in this form. He’s vulnerable and it’s scary. He might have ruined his only chance now to be held by showing he was afraid. It’s not fair-
“Aww. He’s so tiny like this.” Paimon coos clearly not realizing what had happened. She squishes his face with a small finger, which has him warbling slightly at the action.
“Careful.”
“Paimon is being super careful! Geez.”
The spirit turns to nibble on her finger while the two bicker light heartedly.
“What do think would happen if Paimon squeezed him in a hug like this?”
“Paimon. No.”
“Paimon was only joking! Kinda. Maybe… He just looks hug-able!”
“You could end up hurting him on accident.”
“Paimon would never!” The fairy gasps appalled.
Aether laughs, cupping his hands, holding them out slowly. Venti flies closer. “Hi there.” The blonde says softly, moving Venti away from the pouting fairy.
Venti nuzzles closer to the traveler’s touch, the top of his head getting petted very softly. The buzzing underneath his skin has stopped, his thoughts slowing down until he’s thinking only one thing.
It’s nice to be held again like this.